This Sorrowful Life
by BeneathThisMask
Summary: A sequel to "This Cruel Reality". The group is faced with a threat unlike any they've ever encountered before. A combination of the hanging threat of starvation, as well as a dangerous new group, threatens to destroy the new life they've worked so hard to build for each other. Now, with the help of some unlikely allies, Tanner must protect his new family or risk losing them all.
1. A Larger World

The moon.

A harvest moon to be exact. The light from a harvest moon is unlike any on the planet. Translucent and ghostly, it magnifies the shadows and illuminates the things that go bump in the night. A splotch of cold, decay-ridden body fluid splashes across my cheek as yet another of the undead meets its untimely demise at my hand. Five years this apocalypse has been going on. Five excruciating, dreadfully long, years. In that time, killing the dead has become an afterthought. Its just something I do. To survive, to find the things necessary for my survival, and ensure the safety of myself and the people I love. Disgusted by the gunk that now paints my cheek, I raise a hand to wipe the almost raven-black blood away, but only succeed in smearing it even more than it already is.

Great.

Just great.

Behind me, motion catches my attention from the corner of my peripheral, causing me to glance back over my shoulder to examine the source. I'm in no danger, because the person that comes lumbering out of the shrubs is someone very familiar to me. Someone I'd recognize anywhere, even under the light of this eerie harvest moon. Carl Grimes is nineteen years old, tall, only slightly muscular, and still thin as the day I'd met him. His brown locks, painted black under the night sky, frame his head rather nicely, and his ocean-blue eyes glimmer in the light of the moon. He offers me an affirming nod, my signal to proceed, and the two of us continue our hike through the dense foliage. These runs have become fairly routine. Washington ran out of supplies we could use almost a year and a half ago, and so, at the suggestion of Daryl, the supply run team - complete with me as their medic - have been pushing further out in search of anything to better our community, Alexandria. This is the last night of our excursion and we don't have much to show for it. Daryl had nabbed us a couple of bucks the other night and Michonne had located some somewhat-looted outdoor stores, which still had seeds that could be planted back in the community.

Other than that?

We have a whole lot of nothing.

Leaves crunching off to Carl and I's left draws both our attention. No walkers, though. Only Michonne emerging from the nearby thicket. Like Carl and I, she is empty handed and looking rather sore about it. Her dreadlocks sway back and forth as she maneuvers through the bushes and underbrush towards where the two of us are waiting for her.

"No luck for you guys, either?" she inquires softly as we group up and continue our trek.

"Not even a scrap." I reply, a tone of frustration touching the edges of my now fully-developed bass voice.

"Damn." Michonne hisses.

"Where's Daryl?" Carl pipes in; his own voice has remained baritone, but there has been a slight deepening that I've noticed in the past year or so. Not anything too significant, however.

"Up the trail a bit." she replies. "Checking the snares one last time before we all turn in."

The situation is truly frustrating.

For three years, my group has lived in Alexandria. In that time, we've seen outside supplies dwindle significantly. We know its not just us looting these goods - there has to be other groups out there somewhere - and that is posing a significant strain on several of our needs; namely, medication, canned goods that are well-preserved, and ammunition for our weapon caches. What little has survived the initial five years of apocalypse without going bad was already scarce, but with looting an every constant dilemma, finding these necessities have become almost impossible. Michonne, Carl, and I break through the outer shrubbery and come to a clearing where we come across Daryl Dixon kneeling over one of the traps he's been working on.

"How's it coming?" I ask him upon approach.

I don't even worry about sneaking up and scaring him.

Daryl is probably the most alert man I know. He is keenly aware of his surroundings in ways that even Rick, Carl's father, is not. Its likely that he heard us approaching through the underbrush minutes before we broke through to his location. Daryl is also a mastery of identification. He can tell you, just by the way something is walker or _sounds_ like its walking, whether its an animal, a human, or one of the legions of undead wandering the countryside. Years as a tracker and hunter have only been refined with his new role as a member of the supply run team.

"It ain't." the redneck responds, spitting a lugi into the nearby grass. "No catch. No sign of nothin'. I haven't even seen so much as a damn track."

"No luck on our end, either." Michonne notes.

I can hear Daryl curse under his breath.

"Winter's commin'." he says. "We gotta find somethin'... and soon."

And there is the reason for our urgency.

The winter is a particularly grueling season for Alexandria. Despite our walls, homes, and general luck, in the grand scope of things, the winter always seems to claim lives. The cold, sickness, or some combination of the two took nearly five people last winter. Judith, Carl's little sister, had been among the sick. Luckily, however, she recovered. So, with the cold months only two or so months away, it was imperative that we stock up on all of our necessities. Snow is scarce here in Virginia, but when it does come down, the combination of it and nearby walkers makes going on long supply runs almost suicidal. For that reason, our time is even more limited that usual.

"Nothing we can do about it now." Michonne reminds him. "We need to meet up with the others and turn in. Long trip back tomorrow."

Daryl huffs aloud, slapping the ground angrily with frustration.

Daryl Dixon does not tolerate failure and yet failure is all the seems to be turning up lately. It seems to be having a negative effect on the redneck, though I'm not about to blame him. His frustrations and anger are well justified by this point. Without another word, he swipes his crossbow of the ground nearby him, strapping it up around his shoulder, before rising to his full height. With one last glance at his trap, the redneck turns his head, spits another wad of saliva into the dirt, and then tears off in the direction of our base camp.

"C'mon." he calls out as he walks off.

We don't protest.

We're behind him before he even finishes his thought.

Later that night, Carl and I crawl into the back of the van we'd driven out here, and into our makeshift sleeping bags, which we'd stretched out over two seats which have been laid down flat to allow for some manner of comfort. Around us, everyone else has piled into their vehicles for the night as well. Glenn and Heath, one of the other team members, are on watch duty tonight and, personally, I'm grateful for that. Carl and I had watch duty the previous night and the two of us were almost as lifeless as the walkers by the time the morning sun touched the horizon. It would be nice to have a full night's sleep to prepare us for the day of the return trip, tomorrow.

But that's not the only reason its nice.

Once we're settled in, Carl flicks the sheet we have been using as a blanket over the top of both of us and snuggles into me. This is my favorite part of the night. I'm all too eager to wrap my arms around him and draw him into a close embrace. Its been three years. Three years since I met him in that neighborhood all alone. Three years since we got to know each other and became boyfriends. Its only been a year, though, since we were betrothed and, while we've certainly come off of what Carol refers to as the "honeymoon high", Carl and I still enjoy being affectionate towards one another. Sometimes, the thought of snuggling up with him before sleep is what gets me through the particularly harsh days. The both of us have matured greatly over the past year and, along with us, so has our relationship.

"Tired yet?" Carl mumbles into my chest.

"I don't think there is a word to describe how tired I am." I shoot back, grinning as I do.

He utters a muffled chuckle.

"We get a few days off when we get back." he reminds me. "What will we do with the free time?"

"Sleep." I reply almost immediately, widening his grin. "And then we sleep some more."

"If Judith lets us." Carl says.

There is truth to that.

Judith Grimes, now three years old, is a terror on two legs. She can walk, run, talk, scream, and all the other joyful traits a three year old can preform and while I love her to death, she has figured out a way, recently, to ensure that Carl and I wake up wanting to claw out our own eardrums. Judith likes to burst into our room unannounced, in the wee hours of the morning, and shriek like some sort of banshee until one or both of us come flying out of our bed to chase her out. Rick lets her slide sometimes, because he finds it both amusing and a good "alarm clock" for the two of us.

I snort a laugh.

"We really need to invest in a doorknob with a lock." I joke with him, my eyes starting to flutter shut with fatigue.

"Yeah?" his voice responds. "Let me know if you find one. I'll help you install it."

I smile.

Truly, Carl has been, and continues to be, the greatest blessing in my life. Even little conversations like these making everything we're fighting so hard for worth it. Some mornings, I roll over, crashing into his toned back and wonder just how I ever slept at night without him laying next to me, before everything went down. Its gotten to the point where the few nights that I do have to sleep without him, I've been incapable of sleep myself. Carl being there has just become the norm. Second nature. I can't imagine him anywhere else. Its a dangerous feeling to have in a world where life is so uncertain, but after three long years of him always being there, I've allowed myself a reprieve from such worries and concerns.

Reaching the end of my consciousness, I use the last remnants of my strength to nuzzle the top of his head, and plant a kiss in the messy mop of hair sitting atop it. I feel Carl sigh happily into me and he quickly returns the gesture, leaning up to peck the bottom of my cheek before snuggling back into his previous position.

"Love you." he murmurs.

"Love you too." I reply.

The darkness of sleep comes almost immediately and I'm whisked away into that far away dreamworld.

The days ahead have much in store for us.

####

Morning.

Hues of red, orange, and yellow are plastered across the clear daybreak sky; a gorgeous masterpiece in the heavens and a perfect way to greet a day spent mostly on the road back to Alexandria. Our convoy had packed up and begun the drive back shortly before the sun's first rays illuminated the horizon and is now well into our second hour on the road back with approximately two or three more to go before we reach our destination. The morning air is fresh and cool, so Carl and I have the driver and passenger side windows on our van rolled down, allowing the wind to fill the cab of our vehicle and gust over us; whipping our hair around rather humorously in the process. Carl drove on the way here, so its my turn to drive us back. He is reclined in the passenger seat, eyes shut, simply enjoying the breeze and the ride. Next to us on the road is Daryl, who is on his trademark motorcycle, wearing a pair of sunglasses to block out the sun's potent rays. Three other vehicles form our convoy as well, one of which is carrying Michonne and Glenn, while the other two are carrying the remaining five members of our supply group.

The ride is a silent one, but no words need to be exchanged.

Our run wasn't as successful as any of us had hoped it would be, but everyone is in one piece and is together, and that is all we can really ask for these days.

The drive is a spectacular one. I never get tired of the view. Our convoy rounds a corner and is now high enough to see the object of my fascination. The Chesapeake Bay. Illuminated by the morning sun, which is now fully visible hovering over the horizon, the waters of the Atlantic Ocean, which flow into the Bay, are a breathtaking sight to behold. Prior to the end of civilization, I had only seen the Bay once, during a trip my family took to the nation's capitol. I have been captivated by it ever since. Next to me, Carl opens one of his eyes and regards me with a grin touching the corners of his mouth.

"If you stare any harder, we're going to have a wreck." he chortles.

Now its my turn to smile.

"Have you ever seen something so beautiful?"

He studies me for a moment, then, opening both eyes, he peers out of his window upon the bay stretched out below us. Carl doesn't observe it long, though, before returning his sight to me. His expression softens from a grin to a genuine smile.

"Yeah." he replies vaguely.

I smile back at him.

Its only then that I hear the loud roar of Daryl's motorcycle beside me. Its his way of trying to get my attention when we're on the road. My head bolts around from Carl to the redneck, who is shaking his head with shame at me.

"Save the romance for the bedroom!" he yells over wind and engines. "You're driving like a crazy fuckin' Asian!"

Well played, Daryl.

He just managed to take a pot shot at myself, Carl, and Glenn all in one breath. I grin widely. Daryl has taken quite a liking to picking on Carl and I whenever we get overly wrapped up in one another. Though, this time, he actually has a point. It w_as_ starting to affect my driving. Nevertheless, I've become comfortable enough around the redneck to fire back a retort whenever he does this.

"Mind your own business, Daryl!" I shout back out the window. "Your driving is just as lousy as mine!"

Daryl doesn't bother further arguments, merely giving me the bird before returning his attention to the road.

In my rear view mirror, I can see Michonne, who is driving behind me, grin and shake her head. My grin widens further, clearly pleased with myself. The rest of the trip is uneventful. Hours pass us by and eventually, I can make out the main wall of Alexandria approaching in the distance. By this point, the sun is reaching mid-height in the sky and the air is beginning to warm slightly, which has the nice effect of making the air even more pleasant than it was earlier this morning. Within minutes of coming into sight of the wall, our convoy has pulled up to the gate and is awaiting entry back into the community. Back to our families and friends.

Back home.

The gates screech open and I immediately throw the van back into drive, pulling into the community and then making an immediate turn towards the parking lot we always unload in. Alexandria is a different place than it was three years ago. In fact, its different than it was even a year ago, when Carl and I finally tied the knot. The wall and expansion teams have drastically expanded the community to include most of what was formally known as "Old Town" Alexandria; the historical center of the city. While this expansion hasn't put us in complete control of the city, it does mean the community has had the ability to spread out and grow. This expansion also came with an added blessing; access to the Potomac River, of which the city sits on the western banks. With the river, the community was able to begin harvesting fish, and we had gained a nearly infinite source of water. An impeccable resource in the post-apocalyptic world. Additionally, under the suggestion of Rick, the community had begun to make farms out of the backyards of vacant homes, to be used in food production. It is certainly a pretty good set up, all things considered, but there is catch.

Everything isn't as perfect as it seems.

Despite our wealth of resources, recently, times have become tough again. During the last winter, an early freeze killed a good majority of the crops we were growing, leading our community to become short on food almost overnight. Scavenging for food was nearly useless now. Aside from canned goods, most man made food before he Turn has gone bad, forcing us to resort to hunting and farming. At first, the animal population was large enough that this wasn't too much of a problem, but, as it turns out, walkers don't just eat other people and the growing walker herds soon began taking out any animal they could get their hands on. So far, fishing is the only for sure way we can gather food, but with winter approaching again, even they will soon become scarce.

Long story short; food is tight.

Really tight.

Carl and I depart our vehicle and immediately head for the truck Michonne was driving to help unload what little we had brought back. About the time we reach the vehicle, I see Rick Grimes approaching. He always makes a point to come out to greet us when we return from these things. There is another change in the community that I forgot to mention. Rick is running the show now. Douglas has long since retired from the position of leader of the camp. Last summer a truly tremendous herd of walkers attacked the walls and Rick, being the person that he is, and with our group at his side, lead the efforts to repel the walkers. And we kicked ass, naturally. Okay, it wasn't as easy as I make it sound, but we did eventually repel the herd and Rick's leadership had been on display for everyone to see. After that, Douglas realized that our experiences on the road had made us more battle-hardened that almost anyone within Alexandria's walls, and he felt that Rick would be a much more prepared and meticulous leader.

And he is.

Rick Grimes is the reason the community has grown so much in such a short period of time.

I truly admire him for that.

"Four days." he says upon approaching us. "You were only supposed to be gone for two."

Rick's concern is always apparent.

He hadn't particularly liked letting Carl out of his sight for these runs, but when I had volunteered to go along as group medic, he had relented. Even so, Rick is very vocal about his concerns when we take longer than expected. And its not just Carl he worries about. Ever since becoming his son-in-law, Rick's fatherly concern has extended to me as well and then, to a lesser, but still potent extent, Michonne, Daryl, and Glenn.

"Turns out Rockville is stripped clean." I inform him. "Daryl wanted to push further into Maryland to see if there was anything to be found."

"And?" Rick replies. "Was there?"

I shake my head.

Rick huffs in frustration.

"Well," he continues. "You're safe. That's all that matters now."

Rick steps forward and pats my shoulder a few times before turning his full attention to his oldest child. Even though Carl is nineteen years old, Rick still greets him with a strong embrace. It has never really bothered Carl. He is usually just as happy to see his father as his father is to see him. When the two come apart, Michonne and Daryl are standing on the other side of them, looking surprisingly amused.

"What?" Michonne quips sarcastically. "No hug for us?"

Rick grins and gives her a strong pat on the shoulder.

"Let's get all this stuff to the storehouse." Rick directs. "Daryl, I'll let you take care of those two deer. Carl?"

The younger Grimes regards his father with an inquisitive stare.

"Why don't you take Tanner and go pick up your sister." Rick continues. "We've got things from here."

Carl nods reluctantly. Usually, the two of us stay and help unload the spoils, then assist with taking what we can over the storehouses. Unlike me, Carl doesn't like just going with the flow. He's a committed worker who doesn't like to skimp out on the hard work that is necessary around here. Yet, ever since Rick became the leader around here, the elder Grimes has made sure that Carl equally divides his time between work and family. Its not a bad concept, which is why I've never said anything to either one of them about it. Noticing his hesitation, I reach around and gently place my hand on his shoulder, bringing his attention back to reality and his gaze to mine.

"C'mon." I urge him. "Let's go see Judy."

He flashes me a soft smile and then nods, then we're off.

####

"Look who's back."

Carol hasn't changed much in the past couple of years.

She is still stoic and serious, no matter the situation, but even so, her eyes seem to glimmer with light upon seeing that Carl and I have returned from our extended supply run outside the walls. She props the door to her home open further, allowing us both inside. I immediately spot Judith seated at the coffee table in the center of the sitting room, a piece of paper situated in front of her, while she furiously tears away at it with several crayons that are awkwardly clustered in both of her tiny hands. Judith is a child with a one-track mind. She's too wrapped up in her mutilation of the paper in her possession to notice her brother and I entering the home. Next to me, Carl smirks upon seeing his little sister enraptured in her antics. Upon joining us, after closing the door behind her, Carol does the same.

"She's been like this all morning." Carol explains to us.

"Think she'll notice us?" Carl asks, as much to myself as he does to Carol.

"Give her a moment." I reply. "Won't be long."

Sure enough, Judith must've felt our stares weighing on her, because her tiny brunette head snaps up and a wide smile immediately spreads across her pasty-colored face. In that instant, she completely forgets her makeshift art project even exists, dropping the crayons that were in her hands as she bolts around the table and then makes a beeline for the two of us. Squealing the entire way, I might add.

"Tawnner!" she squeals. "Carl!"

Well, at least she's learned to say her brother's name properly.

She still adds the extra syllable to mine, for whatever reason. She's slowly getting better at it though.

Carl nimbly drops to his knees and opens his arms in time for his baby sister to fill them. He easily scoops her into his arms and lifts her with equal simplicity. Its only been four days since we've seen the little tike, but it never ceases to amaze me just how excited she gets whenever we return from our trips, no matter their length. In turn, I wrap my arms around my significant other and my toddler sister-in-law for what is quite a joyful group hug. Its short and sweet, but its a moment I've come to cherish over the past year that Carl and I have been doing runs. Eventually, you learn to cherish the little stuff like this.

"Daryl with you guys?" Carol pipes up behind us.

"He's with Rick and Mich." I reply, breaking away from our huddle.

"Did you guys find anything worthwhile?" she continues her questioning.

"Just two small buck," Carl replies, shaking his head. "Michonne landed some seeds for the farms, but other than that, nothing."

Carol frowns, "Still nothing to find out there, huh?" she notes. "He won't be happy this evening then."

"We have to hold out hope." I chime back in. "There's gotta be somewhere with supplies out there. We just gotta find it."

Carol offers me a weak smile, and lays her hand on my shoulder, which she then rubs gently.

"I hope you're right." she says.

We don't stay much longer after that. After thanking Carol for watching after Judith, the three of us take off for home. Being back home always brings a sense of serenity back to my heart, no matter how troubled it may get out on the road. Carl and I part as he heads off to put Judith down for a nap and I make my way to the other side of the house to shower. Four days on the road can make a man stink in the most unpleasant ways imaginable.

I've gotten used to it by now, but that doesn't mean that I don't seize opportunities to get myself clean whenever possible. Reaching the bathroom, I quickly twist the knob to start the running water, and begin to furiously lose my clothes. Once they're all off and I'm bare, I examine myself in the bathroom mirror; another little quirk I've picked up since we've started on runs. Aside from the sheer volume of dirt that covers my fair skin, there is a variety of small gashes and scratches from where I'd met the business end of a large thorn bush. While not particularly bothersome, I wanted to make sure I hadn't brushed up against any poison ivy or poison oak. To my relief, there are no signs of a rash or any other malicious growths. As I finish my inspection and begin to my focus towards getting into the shower for cleaning, I hear the door crack open and see Carl poke his head through the opening.

"Can I join?"

I can't help but grin at him, "I thought you'd never ask."

A pleased smile on his face, Carl slips completely into the bathroom and shuts the door behind him. He is just as quick to shed his clothing, revealing that he's just as dirty, if not dirtier, than I am. Not that I mind it. There is a certain appeal to Carl when he's covered in dirt and the grime from several days of hard labor. I don't waste time and water by continuing to admire his physique, however. Instead, I push back the shower curtain and step in, him following right on my heels. The water is cold, but that is something else I've come to get used to. A cold shower is better than no shower. As usual, Carl and I take turns washing the other off until we're both free of the crud that had been covering us for the past four days. We finish quickly, leaving us a few minutes to just enjoy the water and each other. I let my hands slide down his arms on the way down to wrap around his bare waist, but my right hand stops when it brushes over the ring on his ring finger. I let my touch linger there for a moment, feeling the metallic band I'd gifted Carl three years ago, and that'd he'd only begun wearing around his finger a year ago.

Right where it belongs.

Carl smiles at the gesture, likely knowing where my thoughts are drifting to, and promptly turn around and plants a kiss square on my lips. I'm all too eager to return it, tongue sliding along the edge of his lips before slipping inside his mouth to coax his own tongue out to play. All throughout our kissing session, I keep my hand firmly pressed against his ring, as if to remind myself its still there. I kiss him softly and lovingly for several more moments until we slowly come apart from each other. His smile is heavenly as he leans his forehead against mine.

"We'd better get out." he notes. "Save some water for Michonne later."

"She does stink, doesn't she?" I joke. We all stunk after that run.

"Absolutely," Carl replies, catching onto my joke. "Worse that we did, even."

I chuckle slightly at this.

"Totally telling her you said that." I poke at him.

"Bite me." he snaps in retort.

"Is that a challenge?" I cock my eyebrow at him and grin mischievously.

Carl grins at my childish antics. Very few people can cause him to grin like that. To break his usual wall of seriousness and get underneath to the true caring, lovable human being he is underneath. But I can do it. I can do it well. And I revel in being able to make him smile. Its one of the things I take the most pride in. Carl's smile is better than any victory trophy. Rather, his happiness is the greatest victory I can achieve. I'd promised Rick shortly after I'd proposed to Carl that I'd do everything in my power to make his son happy and, so far, I've made good on my commitment.

"I'm serious, Tanner." he continues.

I sigh in mock defeat.

"Alright." I groan.

Rolling his eyes with a snort of laughter at me, he climbs out of the shower to dry, and I'm right behind him. As I'm drying myself alongside him, I can't help but think that, as I have almost every day for the past few years of living here, if my life continues forward like this, the apocalypse might not be such a bad place to live after all.

####

Later that day, Carl and I find ourselves in the streets.

Its a nice day out. The sun is warming the town, but there is just enough of a breeze to keep it from being unbearably hot. The two of us have been chatting idly for the past half hour. There isn't much to do and neither of us have seen any of the others, besides Carol, since returning from our run. That changes shortly, however, when Rick rounds the street corner just across the road from us, and starts making his way towards us. Its unusual for Rick to come this close to home so early in the day. After taking over the responsibility of leading the Safe Zone, he usually spends most of his time dealing with the internal matters that often plague the inside, which keeps him out until nearly sunset. Even so, his purposeful stride and hardened expression tells me that he isn't coming home for the day, nor to make small talk. He is a man on a mission; as he usually is.

"Carl. Tanner." he calls to us as he gets closer.

"What is it?" Carl asks, craning his neck to put his father into view.

"I need your help at the gate." Rick continues.

"Walkers?" I inquire, curious.

Rick never usually bothers Carl and I when we're back from runs. Usually, we use the time to relax together, or spend time with our friends and family, but every so often the walker build up on the wall forces him to recruit extra hands. None of us are strangers to using our days off to help ward off a large influx of walkers. To my surprise, however, Rick shakes his head and folds his arms. I glance at Carl, who having sensed the same unease as I had, is glancing back at me; a curious expression chiseled into his face. At once, we both return our stares towards Rick, awaiting an explanation.

"Sasha and Tyreese have wall duty today." Rick begins. "Couple of minutes ago, they spotted some movement in the trees. Thought it was walkers. It was actually a man. A man that is now at our gates."

I crane my eyebrow at this.

People coming to our gates is no unusual occurrence. Over the years, we've taken in a large amount of survivors, and in that time, Rick has never looked this concerned about any of them. Its perplexing, but I know he's not done talking, so I refrain from speaking up.

"This man says he's from another group. Wants to talk." he goes on.

"One man?" Carl butts in. "What do you need our help for, then?"

"To help Sasha and Tyreese keep watch." Rick replies. "We don't know if this guy is trying to lure us into an ambush. If he has people in the woods. You, Tanner, Sasha, and Tyreese can keep an eye on the surroundings while Daryl and I chat with this guy."

Seems reasonable enough. You never can be _too_ careful anymore. I cast Carl a glance, to which he nods. Seems he's thinking along the same lines as I am. Without replying verbally, I return my gaze to Rick's and give him my nod of acceptance. Besides, Rick had said this newcomer was with another group, and I was quite curious to see what he'd come all this way alone to talk to us about. That's not something one does without a purpose in mind. It also could be, as Rick mentioned, a trap set to lure us into a false sense of security before some raid. Its always best to be prepared. The three of us make our way up the streets until the wall comes into view. Immediately, I spot Sasha peering back over her shoulder at us from the top of the wall. Tyreese is a bit further down, peering down at what I'm guessing is the man in question, on the other side. Daryl joins up with us as we continue our approach and, as we come closer, Carl and I split off from Daryl and Rick to climb the ladder to the top of the wall.

From this vantage point, I can finally see the object of Rick's concern. The man is tall, stocky, and dressed in a large trench coat. He sports a beard that could rival Hagrid's from a _Harry Potter _movie that I saw back in the old days. Below me, the gates swing open and Rick and Daryl march out to meet this stranger. The man sports a fairly warm smile. Its almost disarming. I'm definitely not getting any bad vibes from him, but I don't let my guard down. I have too many memories of people who gave me good vibes, only to find out that they were some nutcase later on. Instead, I focus my sight outward towards the trees as Rick had suggested, looking for any sign of danger in the surrounding woods, while simultaneously keeping my ears open to listen to the conversation ensuing below._  
_

"I'll ask again." I hear Rick's voice ring out. "What are you here for?"

"A conversation. More like.. a proposal." the man replies, voice surprisingly not as deep as I'd thought it would be. His voice is almost as soft as his expression was.

The man must've moved, because Rick immediately issues a warning.

"Stay right where you are. Armed or not, you're not coming a step closer to these gates until I verify your intentions."

"Understood." the man replies. "I'm not here to cause you harm. Like I said. I'm here to talk. My name is Paul. Paul Monroe, though I really don't go by that name. My friends back from where I come from just call me 'Jesus'."

In that moment, I have to resist the urge to burst out in hysterical laughter. What a fitting nickname. The man's physical appearance certainly bears a great resemblance to the modern depictions of Jesus Christ; tall, stocky, mess of brown hair atop his head, and a long brown beard. Carl must've heard me snort, because he flashes me a look, which is my cue to return to watching the woods. Even so, I can't resist the smirk that curls across my lips. Hey, a guy has to find amusement in something, right? Even in these days.

"And just where do you 'come from'?" Rick pushes. "How many of you are there?"

There is a pause.

"Like you, I come from a community of survivors." Paul continues. "I can't put an exact number on them, but I'd say close to two hundred."

W...what?!

Two hundred?!

I thought Alexandria was big and we are currently sitting at around seventy survivors. But two hundred?! That's just massive!

"A community that large?" Rick asks. "Then what do you need from us? You said you had a proposal."

"That I do, friend." Paul replies. "You see we need anything you've got or can offer. My group lives about twenty miles from here on the other side of the capital. The residents are good people. We've never had any real trouble. As I've said, though, we're nearly two hundred strong. Supplies don't last very long when you have that many mouths to feed, that many bodies to cloth, and that many people safe. It seems we're always short of something."

"Well, you're out of luck." Rick retorts. "We're in the same boat, supply wise. There's nothing for you to take."

"I'm not suggesting we take your stuff, friend. I'm proposing a trade system. Swapping. You guys have supplies we could use and we have supplies you could use. Everyone benefits, no one goes without."

My ears perk up at this.

That is certainly a good solution to our lack of supplies from the runs as of late. It would also explain why Washington dried up so quickly. If there are other groups taking supplies from the city, then eventually all of them will be gone, because too many people are siphoning them. I'm actually rather surprised we haven't run into these people before. They must be pretty reclusive. Cautious at the very least.

"What kind of supplies are we talking about?"

"Well, for instance, your community has somehow managed to stay well stocked on ammunition." Paul explains. "Our guns ran dry months ago. We're down to using knives and machetes. In exchange, we have food. Lots of it. We have to in order to feed the number of people we've amassed. If you're good on food, clothing, tools; you name it, we've got it."

"Not to sound skeptical, but that sounds much too good to be true." Rick replies bluntly. "I'm suppose to believe you came all the way out here, alone and poorly armed, to make a trade arrangement with us?"

"No." Paul replies. "Not exactly. I had two other destinations. Supply drops at two other camps."

This Paul guy really has gotten my attention a lot today.

Two additional camps?

Before today, I was convinced that our safe zone was the only community of survivors in the Washington area. The revelation that there is actually four comes as quite a shock to me. I sense someone's gaze on me and turn to see Carl regarding me with an expression of equal shock and awe. That expression only lasts a few seconds, though, before fading into a more serious and thoughtful look. As Carl has matured over the years, I've noticed his mentality becoming more and more like his father's. Because of this, and the fact that I know him better than pretty much anyone here, I know what he's thinking. Rather than consider all of the good this could possibly bring Alexandria, or three new potential allies against the walker threat, Carl is seeing three potential threats that need to be dealt with. I hope he's not right, though. I hope these people really are who they say they are.

"Two other camps?" Daryl chimes in, echoing our sentiments.

"That's right." Paul says. "Counting my camp, that's three, and with yours that makes four living in the Washington area. You guys... you didn't actually think you were the only survivors out here? ...Did you?"

"To be honest." Rick replies. "Yes. We had no reason to believe otherwise. We've lived here three years and haven't encountered any other camps, other than those we took in."

I hear Paul chuckle slightly.

Something about the inflection in his voice causes me to take my eyes off of the woods and focus them solely on him. Paul Monroe is brimming with pride and confidence. He's a curious sight to behold. In a way, he reminds me of Aaron the day he found us and told us about Alexandria. As if having a place to return to; a group to survive with, fills them with some sort of tremendous confidence upon telling others. I also finally get a glimpse at Rick and Daryl, who are still standing in front of Paul. Daryl is his usual stoic self. His face doesn't betray even a hint of surprise, doubt, or alarm. The redneck simply observes the events unfolding before him. Closely observing Paul and Rick's exchange. Rick, on the other hand, is visibly conflicted and somewhat awestruck.

"Boy," Paul breathes at last. "Your whole world is about to change."

* * *

**A/N: So, another promise of mine. Alongside Deliverance, I will be working on this sequel to This Cruel Reality. As I never rehash the same plot twice, you can expect it to be a gripping continuation of the first story, with its plot evolving alongside its characters. Like the first story, the characters are all based on the TV series characters, and the plot will be influenced by both the show and the comics, though also like the first story, its all my story-telling, so there will always be new dynamics and content to enjoy. For those of you new to me, and haven't read This Cruel Reality, the story picks up with the last one left off, so there may be some details that will confuse you if you haven't read it first. I've been planning this story ever since I announced that I was bouncing around the idea for a sequel (back in March or Aprilish), so you have a lot to look forward to. This story, however, will be the final installment in the series and _should_ be shorter. We'll see about that last one, though. It very well could end up just as long. I really hope you all enjoy this story/sequel as much, if not more, than the first. Just a quick heads up, though, for those who would care about this; unlike This Cruel Reality, expect major character deaths with this story. That is one of the new elements I'm adding to this sequel to keep you folks on the edge of your seat ;) No spoils though!**

**Like with the last one, I will be answering reviews after each chapter (if there are reviews to answer), so please comment and review. Speak your opinions, thoughts, and questions. I love to hear them all :)**

**Welcome to a new chapter, folks.**

**Enjoy!**


	2. Hilltop

"Boy, your whole world is about to change."

Rick is speechless at Paul's words.

The rest of us aren't much for words either. Carl, Sasha, Tyreese, and I are all gaping from our post atop the wall. Below us, Rick and Daryl are in a similar condition. There is growing trepidation among my groupmates. Four groups coexisting in the same general area as one another is either a blessing or a war waiting to happen. I'm curious as to what these other groups are like. Do they have control over a town like us, or are they more like Rick's group had been when they lived at the prison; merely operating out of a singular building? Are they all as big as Paul's group? How have _they_ been surviving these past five years of hell? This is all assuming that Paul is telling us the truth and not feeding us bullshit in order to lure us into a false sense of security. Realizing this is a possibility, I direct my attention to Rick. Either way, Paul is right.

Our lives have just gotten interesting once again.

"Let me get this straight." Rick says. "You and these other two groups are in communication and trade supplies with one another. Not only that, but you want us to join in on this exchange?"

"Sounds about right." Paul replies nodding. "Exactly, actually."

Rick glances at Daryl briefly, then back to Paul.

"Say I believe you." the former sheriff's deputy continues. "It simply can't be that simple. What's the next step for us?"

Paul strokes his beard for a moment, going into thought about Rick's words.

I have to give Rick credit where its due; he's a good interrogator. I know Rick well enough to tell from his line of questioning that he does not trust Paul at all. He's waiting for something. An opening, most likely. His questions are meant to give the illusion that he is on the verge of trusting Paul and it is working flawlessly. I only know all of this because I'd seen Rick do it before. I'd seen him keep control of the situation with Gareth, years ago in Terminus, with simply his powerful presence and words; backing it up with force when it became necessary. That's why, in my mind, Rick is the only one who deserves to lead this community. Not only is he a responsible and trustworthy leader, he is also very meticulous and cunning when it comes to dealing with outsiders; a repertoire of talents he has come to hone after numerous encounters with people like Shane, the Governor, and Gareth.

The sound of Paul speaking again snaps me from my thoughts.

"I'll escort yourself, and whomever you choose to come along with you, back to my community so that you can see for yourself what we have to offer. While we're there, I'll introduce you to Gregory. He's the main man in charge of the place. Assuming you check out with him, I'll show you a safe route between here and the community which we can use to trade back and forth."

Rick pauses to consider Paul's words.

I, on the other hand, am already suspicious.

Escorting Rick, entourage or not, to a mysterious community sounds to me like a chance to capture hostages in order to get supplies and God-knows-what-else from Alexandria. That's why it surprises me when Rick, ever the suspicious leader, smiles and starts extending his hand towards Paul.

"Sounds simple enough." Rick announces. "Let's begin."

What?!

My head snaps in Carl's direction. Carl Grimes is as shocked and bewildered as I am. In fact, he even seems somewhat angry. As distrustful as Rick is towards outsiders (at least initially), Carl is twice as distrustful. Hell, when I'd first met him, it had taken me saving his life to get him to even look at me with a reasonable expression and even then he gave me the cold shoulder for quite sometime afterwards. Until after Michonne joined, or rather re-joined, our little group, in fact. Carl senses my gaze and flashes me a look. He knows that I know something is up. Something about this just isn't right. For once, our sense of distrust towards this newcomer is one and the same.

"Really?" Paul exclaims. "That was... easy."

Even the _newcomer_, smells something awry.

"How can we refuse?" Rick continues, as Paul stretches out his own hand to shake Rick's.

Rick's next movement is a blur.

It happens so spontaneously and blindingly fast that I nearly miss it. Rick Grimes seizes Paul's hand and pulls with the full of his strength. Paul is caught so off-guard that he doesn't even have a chance to protest vocally. The large man slams into the concrete with such force that I can hear the impact even from the top of the wall. Sasha, Tyreese, Carl and I may have been caught off-guard by Rick's complete one-eighty, but Daryl appears to have completely expected it and makes no move to intervene. Just before Paul is able to recover, Rick delivers a swift and impactful boot to the newcomer's face, rendering him completely unconscious.

"Daryl," Rick breathes, panting slightly from the exertion. "Tie him up. Quick, before he regains consciousness."

Daryl nods and bolts off towards the still-open gates in order to retrieve the required rope.

"Carl. Tanner." Rick raises his voice so that Carl and I can hear him more clearly from our distance. "Come here. Once Daryl ties him up, you two take him to the church and hold him there until I come and get you. I have to let the others know what's happened."

Again, I glance at Carl, who returns my gaze.

A simple nod is all I need.

Like me, he is in agreement with his father, and so we both set off to fulfill our orders.

####

Guarding Paul is slightly more bearable with Carl alongside me. Even though I know Carl doesn't trust the man in the slightest, I can tell he's curious for some reason. We've been watching the newcomer for almost an hour now and Carl can't seem to stop himself from glancing back at Paul every couple of minutes to gauge his actions. After about the third or fourth time, Carl catches on to the fact that I've noticed this, but before he can speak and explain himself to me, Paul stirs behind us and slowly returns to consciousness.

"You..." he murmurs upon seeing us. "You two... who are you?"

I shift my gaze towards Carl.

He is completely transfixed on the man; his gaze hardened and callous, even. Slowly, Paul becomes more and more alert as the haze of Rick's earlier attack begins to wear off. There is a slight glint of recognition that comes across his face, likely because he remembers seeing Carl and I from the wall earlier. I fully expect him to become enraged. It wouldn't be the _wrong_ reaction. He was just attacked by Rick, after all, and all while extending an invitation of peace. In his place, I very likely would be enraged myself. Oddly, though, Paul doesn't react that way. Instead, his gaze actually softens. He's such a curious man. I'm not sure what to make of him, but I can see why Carl is so curious about him.

"I've seen you before." the man observes. "You two look a little young to be holding a man hostage."

Carl's eyes narrow.

Seeing the contempt building behind his demeanor, I'm quick to intervene, preventing Carl from answering himself.

"You should know by now that age doesn't mean anything anymore." I say.

"Fair enough." Paul replies. "At least tell me this. How long do you plan to keep me tied up like this?"

"As long as we have to." Carl finally speaks up.

Paul nods solemnly, "I figured you'd say something like that. Truth is, I understand your group's reluctance to believe me. I know what its like to live in the outside world. The dead aren't the only things you have to worry about. There are people out there... horrible people... who work their evil, using the end of the world as their excuse. So, I don't take this personally. I get wanting to protect your people."

Silence.

My feelings are conflicted.

Paul's words seem nice and accepting, but, then again, so did Gareth's. Natalie was a kind person when I first met her too, and she ended up harboring an evil greater than I ever thought possible from her. Niceties and the promise of understanding just aren't enough to make a solid judgement about a person. Part of me wonders if Carl is thinking the same thing.

"You two seem to have questions." Paul speaks up again. "Don't worry, I don't bite. I'll tell you anything you want to know."

I'm not stupid and I know Carl isn't fooled either.

Whether Paul's intentions are genuine have yet to be seen, but even I know he's only telling us this to get us to drop our guard, feel better about him, and then report as such to Rick. In a way, we're like a pipeline to him. If he gets through to us and gains our trust, he will have Rick's ear willingly or not. Even so, I can't help but hear the whisper of the tiny voice within my head. The voice advising me that Paul isn't a true threat. That he really is telling the truth about all of this. Only time will tell, however. I'm just about to open my mouth to indulge him when the door behind me swings open, distracting all of us from our conversation to see who is arriving. Of course, it is none other than Rick Grimes pushing his way into the room. Rick glances at Paul, who regards him with a similar expression, before motioning for us to follow him. Carl and I obey, passing through the door, which Rick promptly shuts behind us, and turn to face him.

"Sorry that took so long." Rick apologizes. "We checked the vicinity. No signs of his group or any threats at the moment."

"Do you think he intends to initiate an attack?" Carl asks, folding his arms against his chest.

Rick huffs in frustration, "I don't know."

"Do you have a plan?" I ask him.

This time, however, Rick nods;

"We're going to try to have him take us to this community of his. See if its genuine or not."

"We?"

"You, Daryl, Carl, Michonne, and I." Rick replies.

That seems to be a reasonable set of choices, given the circumstances, "Just the five of us? What about the others?"

"Abraham will stay here and hold down the fort. Glenn and Maggie are going to take over the wall operations and make sure we aren't blind-sighted by an attack while we're away." Rick explains. "Carol will watch after Judith."

"Dad?"

Rick turns to regard Carl, who had spoken up, sounding rather incredulous.

"Why are you _really_ doing this?" Carl inquires his father.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean going to his group." Carl replies. "It could be an ambush. Another Terminus. Another Woodbury."

"That's exactly why we gotta go." Rick explains. "Listen to me, boys. This place is safe. We've worked hard these past three years to ensure that it is. Our walls are strong against walkers and everyone has really come together to put up a good defense of this place. The truth is, we need supplies. Food has been dwindling since last winter. We're already going to have to severely ration what we do have this winter and if things keep getting worse... well.. you both can imagine."

"You're seriously considering his offer, aren't you?" I interject.

Rick pauses for a moment before continuing, "Maybe he is telling the truth. We only have two choices. Either we view it as a threat, like I initially did, or an opportunity to help our community keep going forward. There is a chance this guy... this Paul... is right. There wasn't an ambush waiting for us and he hasn't tried anything stupid despite being held hostage. Every indication tells me he's being truthful. He and his group may be good people. Exactly the people we want to ally with."

"And if they aren't?" Carl, ever the voice of skepticism, voices.

Rick's eyes come up to meet his son's. The gleam in them is ferocious; the look of a lion in command of his pride. Its a look I haven't seen since Terminus. The look of a ruthless leader hellbent on doing what is in the best interest of his community.

"If they aren't, we'll kill them." Rick declares. "I won't let there be another Woodbury this close to our town."

####

So, the plan was final.

In the morning, Rick, Daryl, Carl, Michonne, and I will set out with Paul towards his community in order to find out once and for all if he really is telling the truth. The hope is that he is, in fact, telling the truth. Even though Rick seems certain that we can take on Paul's group, in the occasion that he is lying, I'm not so certain we can. Especially since Paul described a community of two hundred survivors. Even with everyone in Alexandria, we're still vastly outnumbered. The rest of the day passes by quietly and uneventfully. Rick spends most of the evening preparing for our trip the next day, as well as briefing the other members of the community on contingency plans should things go south. Carl and I return home in time for night to fall. This time, it is I that goes to put Judith down, while Carl heads to the other end of the house to get ready for bed. For all the energy the young Judith Grimes possesses, by nightfall she is usually completely wiped out, and tonight is no different. Within ten minutes, I have her ready and tucked in, and am heading back across the house to my room. Before I'm able to reach it, however, I bump into Michonne who is, herself, just coming home for the evening.

"How are preparations coming along?" I ask her as she sheds her shoes and sword.

"You know Rick." she replies. "His backup plans have backup plans. We'll be alright."

"And that man?" I push further. "Paul?"

"Rick is keeping him tied up in the church tonight." Michonne explains. "Don't want to take any chances. Daryl, Glenn, and Abraham will take turns guarding him through the night."

As usual, Rick has all of his ducks in a row. Slowly, that man is becoming harder and harder to catch off guard; a very good quality to have in a leader anymore these days.

"You should go check up on Carl." she says suddenly.

My head comes up to glance curiously at her.

"He was acting kinda funny earlier." she is quick to explain.

So she had noticed it too.

"Yeah, I think I'll do that." I reply.

Without waiting any longer, I leave Michonne to herself in the sitting room and immediately make my way towards the other side of the house, where Carl and I's bedroom sits.

The door is cracked, allowing me to slip in without making too much noise. Upon entering, I immediately see Carl standing at the center of the room. He's ditched his shirt in favor of a gray tank top, which he usually sleeps in, but he hasn't made it into the rest of his night clothes, as he is now staring idly at the floor; apparently deep in thought. So deep in thought, in fact, that I am able to walk up right behind him without him even so much as glancing back to acknowledge he saw me enter the room. I use the opportunity to slip my arms around his waist and hug him from behind. The sudden sensation of my touch would've scared any normal person. Especially since he wasn't expecting it. But Carl knows, by now, that I'm the only one who hugs him in this manner, and so, recognizing my touch, he sinks back into me and allows me to hold him tenderly in my grip. His head droops back, resting against the faint outline of my collarbone.

Carl's eyes flutter shut and he releases a much-needed sigh from his nostrils.

"Everything alright?" I finally find the voice to ask him.

He's silent for a moment; as if mulling my question over in his head.

"Yeah," he finally breathes. "Its just a lot to absorb for one day."

I nod in agreement.

"That man... Paul... do you think there is any truth to what he said?"

I frown as I think back on Paul for a fleeting moment.

"I want to say 'yes'." I begin. "If he were hostile, I'd think he'd be causing us more trouble than he has. But..."

Carl waits patiently for me to complete my thoughts. I merely sigh as I let my thoughts sort themselves out.

"You never know." I finish, finding the right words. "Anymore, no one is ever what they seem. We'll know tomorrow though."

Carl nods but I can tell that his concerns haven't been put to rest. I unwrap my arms from around his waist and turn my attention to his shoulder. My hands latch on to a shoulder each and I gently begin to knead the finely toned muscles there. My suspicions are confirmed. Carl is tense. Very tense. His shoulders feel like two solid rocks. I intensify massaging his shoulders, up into his neck muscles. Carl seems to relax somewhat under my ministrations, sighing audibly and sinking back even further to me.

"Relax, Carl." I encourage him. "You're way too tense."

"Sorry," he groans, glancing back at me with a soft expression. "Just got a lot on my mind."

I chuckle lightly under my breath.

"What?"

"Nothing," I reply smiling. "Its just, you're just like your dad sometimes. Always making everything your problem to solve. Taking all that burden on yourself. Its not healthy, you know? You're going to give yourself a stroke."

Carl averts my gaze, but doesn't deny what I've said.

Of course he doesn't.

He knows I'm right.

"You don't have to, you know?" I press him further.

"I-" he begins, frowning momentarily before continuing. "I just don't want to bother you with it."

"Yeah, but when you do that, I end up worrying about you, so either way I'm worried." I argue. "Better to let me in and share your burdens. We're married, Carl. We should tackle these issues together. There's no point in you getting crushed underneath all that stress."

Silence again, though he does return his gaze to mine.

Instead of talking any further, I take his chin between my index finger and thumb; holding him there so he has no choice but to stare back into my eyes. From there, my hand snakes upward to cup and caress his cheek and then, finally, I dip down and take his lips on mine. Our kiss is soft and sweet, and I savor the flavor of his lips; of his tongue. My free hand finds the back of his head, my fingers threading themselves through the thick strands of his light brunette hair. Before I know it, his hands mimic mine; one lightly resting on my cheek, whilst the other twists the locks of my own hair around his fingers. Slowly but surely, Carl's muscles begin to relax and soften up and by the time we relent, he is actually smiling, albeit softly.

"C'mon," I finally say, casting him a slight grin. "Let's go get your mind off of all of this."

I take his hand and slowly begin to lead him towards our bed.

"And how are you planning to do that?" he inquires of me.

My grin widens, "I can think of a thing or two."

Reaching our bed, I quickly shove him down into the sheets. Climbing him after him, I devote myself completely to helping him relax that night. Tonight, I'd much rather focus on Carl. After all, tomorrow will bring with it it's own troubles.

####

Rain is in the forecast this morning.

Over night, a large storm system moved in over the Washington area, and now the entire former metropolitan area is doused in a powerful rainstorm. Even despite this development, Rick decides to push on with our plan. So that's where we find ourselves now, gathering outside the main gates in a heavy downpour. Rick decided to only use one vehicle for this trip, to minimize the amount of resources we'll consume. Paul has remained silent all morning; still tied up and being escorted everywhere by Daryl. After a final check in with Glenn and the wall team, our small group loads up into the larger church van-like vehicle, and we waste no time in taking off. Immediately, Rick begins to barrage Paul with questions.

"Where is your group?" the elder Grimes demands.

"About twenty miles from here." Paul replies, much to my surprise.

I didn't think he'd be that cooperative, to be honest.

"Here's what's going to happen." Rick continues. "You're going to give us directions to your group. If I don't like what I see there, if _anyone_ tries to attack us, I will kill you on the spot."

"If that's how it has to be," Paul replies. "So be it."

And so that's how it is.

Paul complies with Rick's demands, giving us detailed instructions on how to reach his community, which he calls "the Hilltop". It becomes quickly apparent why the supply run team never ran into this place in the three years we've been here. The route is rather hazardous. There are walkers in clusters everywhere, which means there is a very high potential that they could form a herd if given enough time. Add to that the obstruction of abandoned vehicles and this Hilltop colony is actually pretty well guarded from other groups interfering. The storm outside only worsens as the day goes on. Lightning flashes across the horizon, thunder rattles the bolts and pipes of our van, and the rain pounds relentlessly on the outside hull of the vehicle. The road twists and turns through the countryside until finally, I catch sight of something on the horizon. At first, its nothing more than a speck, but, after a moment or so of driving further, I can make out the faint outline of a wall over the hilltops.

"Is that it?" I vocalize without intending to.

Everyone's head turns towards the spot among the hills that I am pointing at.

"Yes." Paul replies, nodding. "That's the Hilltop."

The closer we get to Hilltop, the more features I can make out. The most prominent of these is a massive wooden wall, similar to our own in Alexandria, that surrounds the entirety of the community. As we come to the crest of another hill, I can make out the roofs of houses sticking just over the height of the walls. At the far end of the wall appears to be some sort of a tower, which overlooks the outside of the walls and out over the countryside. Upon first inspection, this place could certainly hold two hundred survivors. I can spot several people walking the length of the walls. Good or bad, these people really do seem to have a good head on their shoulders. The defense of this place is flawless against walkers. Against people, though, remains to be seen. Before we actually reach the front gates of the settlement, Rick parks the van and shuts off the engine.

"What now, Rick?" Paul inquires.

"I was about to ask you the same thing." the sheriff's deputy retorts. "Am I supposed to just trust you? Take my people and walk with you straight into a place where we're insanely outnumbered?"

Paul sighs, "Listen, Rick, if I were a threat, then I'm a pretty poor one. Coming to your gates alone, armed with a rusted pocket knife, without any members of my group as support. Getting captured and then refusing to resist detainment. I even lead you right to my group's front door. What more is it going to take to prove to you that I don't mean you or your people any harm?"

Rick is silent.

He doesn't have a retort for that.

"You're just going to have to trust me." Paul finishes.

"And how can I do that?"

"I'll let you bring your weapons. All of you." Paul declares. "Like I told you yesterday, we have no ammunition. We're reduced to using knives and machetes. You see those guards up there on the wall? They use makeshift spears to deal with walkers. If we're as dangerous as you say, you'll have the instant advantage."

To me, that sounds like a more than fair bargain.

I'm carrying both my gun and my sword today, Michonne is always packing her katana, Carl has brought his pistol with him and one of his larger knives, and Daryl is sporting his crossbow. Everyone knows Rick has brought his revolver with him. We're armed to the teeth. Against people who only have close combat, even in large numbers, we'd do significant damage.

"Alright." Rick relents. "Lead us in."

Paul actually manages a smile at this.

"The van won't make it up the hill in these wet conditions." he notes. "We should go by foot. Its a short walk."

Rick reluctantly nods and, with that, we're back out into the rain.

I join up with Carl on the other side of the van. He looks just as reluctant to do this as Rick does. Even I'm tense. As good as this situation is beginning to look, I can't help but remember Terminus. In fact, this situation brings back a wave of nostalgia. It was Rick, Michonne, Daryl, Carl, and I who had been together when we'd arrived in Terminus and been captured. Now it is the five of us again heading into Hilltop. I can only hope and pray we don't meet the same fate as we did then. The walk up the hill is indeed short, but the relentless downpour makes it a very unpleasant one. As we approach the gates, a lone walker staggers out of the woods. Snarling in typical undead fashion, the cadaver limps down the muddy path towards us, hissing and reaching out with insatiable hunger. It can only see a walking buffet in its path and is naive to the danger we pose towards it.

"Mic-" Rick starts before I cut him off.

"I've got it."

I step forward towards the dead thing, drawing my sword as I approach.

"I've got your back." I hear Carl call out behind me.

Not that I ever doubted him for a second.

The walker is easily dealt with. One slash across its rotting cranium and the the reanimated corpse topples, like a stack of blocks, harmlessly to the side of the road. The intense downpour quickly cleanses my steel blade of the walker's rotting body fluids and I then return the bladed weapon back to its place in the scabbard. Rick nods at me in approval and we resume our walk towards Hilltop. The remaining walk up the hill sees two more walkers stumble into our path, only to be cut down, this time by Daryl. Finally, however, we reach the crest of the hill and come to the simply massive gates of Hilltop. Upon approach, two heads pop up from over the rim of the gate, spears raised.

"Stand down, Kal!" Paul shouts up to them. "Its just me."

"Why are they armed?!" the man named Kal bellows down at us.

"Just trust me!" Paul yells back. "Open the damn gates!"

The bearded man sighs and shakes his head as the two atop the gate scramble to do as commanded.

"Sorry about them." he says to Rick. "Those two can be antsy sometimes."

As we wait for the gates to be open, the rain above slowly begins to weaken. By the time the massive wooden doors start to move, it has reduced itself from a downpour to a mere drizzle; a welcome change from earlier. Rick makes the call to cut Paul loose from the ropes that have kept him tied up. Best not to give the wrong impressions inside the man's community. The gates open fully and I catch sight of Hilltop for the first time. A large community it is indeed. I can see trailers, like you'd find at a trailer park, farms, even the outline of a water tower in the distance. There are people out and about and even children in the streets. In may ways, it reminds me of the first time I set foot in Alexandria. The same sense of awe and wonder washes over me. I glance over at Carl, who seems just as bewildered as I am, and offer him a reassuring smile.

"Impressive, eh?" Paul glances back with a smirk.

"Very..." Michonne breathes silently.

"As I mentioned, two hundred people live here. We turned all the barns in this area into the sheet metal and wood that make up our wall." Paul explains. "There aren't a lot of houses, like you have back in your community, so the residents make do in trailers. Its much better than sleeping outside."

"Ah, Jesus." a deep voice startles us from the side. "You're back."

"Greg," Paul acknowledges the newcomer. "Everyone, this is the man I was talking to you about. Gregory. He's the one who keeps the wheels turning around here."

Gregory is not what I expected. Then again, neither had Douglas. He's a man no taller than Rick, with a bald head, save for a patch of hair along the back of his skull, and a full brownish-black beard. First impression, I don't really get the air of a threat from this man. Like Paul, he seems rather benevolent and is even sporting a soft, welcoming smile.

"If you don't mind, Jesus," Gregory continues. "I'd like to speak to whomever it is that leads these people. A talk. Man-to-man. You can keep showing the others around while we do."

Paul glances over to Rick, "This is the man you're looking for." he explains. "Rick. He's a good man. I'll vouch for that."

"Its a pleasure to meet you." Gregory says. "Rick, step this way. Accompany me."

Rick's face immediately hardens. He shifts his gaze back towards Carl and I instantly make the connection. Of course, Rick being who he is, is still worried about the safety of this place. The last thing he wants is to be split away from his group, most of all Carl, where anything could happen. Even though I'm pretty sure he doesn't need to worry about that at this point. Nevertheless, I step forward, placing my arm protectively around Carl, which somewhat startles the younger Grimes, even though Rick seems to understand what I'm doing.

"Don't worry, Rick. We'll be just fine." I assure him.

Reluctantly, the elder Grimes nods and turns to follow Gregory away from us.

Unfortunately for Gregory, though, things don't quite go as planned. Just before Paul is able to lead the rest of us off towards the rest of the community, while Gregory leaves to have his talk with Rick, there is a loud commotion behind us in the direction of the gates. Being the alert person that I am, my head immediately whirls around to bring into view the offending noise. Sure enough, its the gate alright. The large wooden doors are open and a small crowd has formed. Two men are running in the direction of our group, a third man limping between them.

My eyes narrow.

Something isn't right here.

"Gregory!" one of the men screams. "Jesus!"

Paul is on high alert, bolting to the front of our group, where he meets up with the three men. The third man, visibly injured, steps forward to address Gregory, who himself had returned to see what all the commotion was about. The man is tall and stocky, much like Paul himself, sporting short blonde hair and a farmer's tan. The man is quite obviously in pain, panting and gasping as if each breath he takes, each movement he makes, is costing him a tremendous amount of stamina.

"Ethan!" Gregory gasps, addressing the man. "Where are the others? What happened?"

"They're dead!" the injured man named Ethan spits. "They said it wasn't enough. That we weren't holding up our end of the bargain. They said there will be more killings if I don't give you a message!"

Wait, wait, wait.

Dead?

Bargain?

Killings?!

This whole situation has gone from good to shit in less than thirty seconds. But why am I even surprised any more? My hand instinctively travels to the hilt of my sword, which I grasp tightly. Carl is still within the embrace of my other arm, which tightens its hold around him. I feel him tense. I know he's ready to take action the moment he's needed to. Around us, everyone else seems to be sharing in that reaction.

"Killings?" Rick snarls, vocalizing my concern.

"What message, Ethan?!" Gregory snaps, ignoring Rick. "Who did this?!"

Gregory gets his answer.

But not in the form of a vocal response. There is no name given. No secret message. Just the glint of metal as the man named Ethan retrieves a knife from his coat pocket and slams the serrated edge into Gregory's abdomen. Blood spews from the fresh wound, splattering across my face, as I am the closest one to Gregory. I feel the warm ooze travel down my cheek to my mandible. I'm in utter shock. Carl tenses further, reaching for his gun. Rick, Daryl, and Michonne follow suit. Gregory can only stare forward in terrified pain as the knife plunges deeper into his stomach, spilling his internal fluids onto the muddy ground beneath him.

That's when it comes.

The verbal answer from Ethan's mouth that Gregory had originally asked for.

And though I do not know whom or what he is speaking about, the name he speaks, and the tone in which he speaks it, sends a cold chill from the the base of my neck down the length of my spine.

"...Negan!"

* * *

**A/N: Whew! Packed chapter. As you can see, I'm wasting no time getting to the meat of the plot this time around. You know the characters and the setting, so from here on out, things will get interesting xD I hope this chapter was enjoyable and rivoting. For you romance saps, there are a few chapters coming up here soon devoted to that. But, as usual, I'll balance it with some action. This IS The Walking Dead, after all x)**

**Onto reviews, as promised.**

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**Like I said guys, really, thank you! Continue to comment, review, and ask questions. You all know that I'm always happy to hear from you! For those of you wondering about Deliverance, expect a chapter this week sometime. I'm producing it slower than this story, because this story is priority, but chapter two should be out in a day or so. I'll try to space out the chapter release times, so that you guys don't feel like you're waiting too long between each story.**

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**Later!**


	3. The Day We Start Living

Gregory died tonight.

There was little we could do for him after it was all said and done.

The memory of what happened after he was stabbed is etched into my mind. A movie set to a slow frame rate, destined to repeat itself over and over inside of my head. The man they call Ethan—the perpetrator of the murder—was swiftly captured by Rick and Paul. Where he is now, I'm not sure. There was an attempt to save Gregory. The Hilltop apparently has its own medics. They desperately tried to save their leader's life, but the damage was done. The serrated blade Ethan had used to commit the crime had severed a major artery and damaged both Gregory's stomach and intestines. Even before the Turn, with all of modern medicine, his chances of survival would've been slim. Without it, though, his injuries were a death sentence. The loss of Gregory could immediately be felt by even outsiders like myself. Hilltop is stricken with grief. On my cheek, I can still feel the stain of dried blood from Gregory's wound, where it had splattered onto me in the initial murder. I'm in such a daze that I haven't brought myself to clean it off in the hours since the attack. Luckily for me, Carl is able to stomach this stuff somewhat better than I am and he instantly becomes the support I need.

One could argue that trait is the advantage to being in a loving relationship.

Carl and I are very much pillars of support for one another. Whenever he is feeling pressured or under intense stress, I can not only recognize it, but also be there for him to help him through his rough patches. In that same manner, Carl always seems to be able to notice when I'm distressed for one reason or another. His support is much more subtle, befitting his more solitary personality, but I can tell he genuinely cares. Now being one of those dead ringer moments. Our group is assembled in what was once Gregory's home. Only the light of a cluster of nearby candles illuminates the dark room. Nobody has spoken a word in quite sometime; each of us lost in the memories of the day. To the side of me, the door to the room swings open and Carl walks in, carrying something in both of his hands. I'm too distracted by the horror replaying in my head to pay attention to exactly what he's carrying, but his stride is purposeful and he's approaching just me.

"Here." he mutters softly, bringing his hand up to my face.

Its not until Carl raises his hand and a sensation of frigid moisture touches my cheek that I realize what it is he has gone and gotten. A washcloth. A wet washcloth to be precise. Initially, I'm surprised; not having expected the coldness that now washes over my cheek. I quickly realize what Carl is doing, however, and relax as he begins to tenderly scrub the spot on my cheek which is crusted over with dried blood. I find myself transfixed by him as he sets his mind to removing the muck from my face, my eyes staying latched onto his own cobalt irides, which reflect the dancing flames of the nearby candles. It takes him a few moments, but he finally finishes, withdrawing his hand and the washcloth in it. As he does, I can finally see just how much blood was on my cheek. Enough to stain the washcloth a deep scarlet.

"Thanks." I offer him a warm smile.

A smile he returns.

"Are you alright?" he almost whispers.

"I'm getting there." I reply truthfully.

I'd seen death over the years, but, for whatever reason, I just can't seem to stomach it the same way Carl and some of the others can. It rattles me everytime. I'm honestly surprised that Carl puts up with it. He's of the mindset that gruesome death is apart of everyday life for us in this new world, so he no longer allows it to bother him. In a way, it worries me, but I understand why he's come to think like that. I can hardly blame someone who has seen as much death as he has in his short life. Even I haven't experienced that much trauma. Suddenly, from behind us, the door opens again and both Rick and Paul step into the room. Neither look particularly happy, though, of the two of them, Rick looks the most grim. The sudden tension in the room is thick and palpable. Everyone is on edge.

"Start talking." Rick grumbles.

Paul nods, but then regards Carl and I.

"Should I?" he inquires, gesturing to the two of us. "I don't want to scare the younger ones."

Rick's eyes narrows and he shoots us a glance. In front of me, Carl's gaze also hardens.

"You won't." Carl snaps.

"We may be young." I follow his lead. "But that doesn't make us helpless."

Paul sighs, "Fair enough. The only way I can think to put this is... the Hilltop... well... we have some enemies."

"We gathered that much." Daryl snorts from the corner of the room.

The redneck is leaning back against the far wall; arms crossed, one leg bent back so that his foot is planted firmly against the wall behind him. His posture is the definition of 'doesn't give a fuck'. I know enough about Daryl Dixon to know that his mind is already made up about this place. In his mind, its dangerous now, regardless of whether Hilltop or these outside enemies are to blame.

"Care to tell us who these enemies are?" Michonne chimes in.

"More importantly," I add, recalling the name Ethan spoke of earlier. "Who is Negan?"

The mention of Negan's name seems to have a profound effect on Paul. Almost as if he'd seen a whole horde of walkers just behind me, even though nothing is there. Illuminated by the pale flames of the candlesticks, Paul himself looks almost translucent with fear. Whoever this man is, just the sound of his name can strike fear into the Hilltop community residents; even someone as big and physically imposing as Paul. The bearded man closes his eyes for a fleeting moment, inhaling deeply and then releasing it all at once.

"He appeared when the walls were first being built." Paul begins. "Negan. Like you, Rick, he was the leader of some camp of survivors. Only this group of survivors got their kicks out of terrorizing other survivors. Negan called his group the Saviors and demanded an audience with Gregory. Despite all of his perks, Gregory isn't good with confrontation in the slightest. Negan started making all kinds of threats and demands and Gregory caved."

"Doesn't sound like much of a leader." Daryl spits.

"Gregory was a good man." Paul retorts. "He may not be whom I'd have picked to lead, but he did his best and the people loved him. Anyways, as a result of Gregory caving, Hilltop is forced to hand over half of everything we've acquired. In exchange, they keep the area around our community clear of walkers."

"These 'Saviors'." Rick interjects, stopping Paul's story. "How many of them are there?"

Paul's eyes narrow. Either he doesn't have an answer, or he knows that he doesn't have on that Rick will like. Either way, he begins speaking again;

"Truth is, no one really knows." he admits. "I know. Its damn stupid."

"That's one way of putting it." Michonne snaps. "There are two hundred people here. You could be paying tribute to a madman who doesn't even have the necessary backing to enforce his will against you. He's ruling you through fear."

There is an edge to Michonne's voice that I'd never heard before tonight. Almost as if she hates the weakness being displayed by Paul and the Hilltop. My suspicion is that she is still harboring some memory of what happened between Andrea and the Governor and resents other people who show the same weakness that got her dear friend killed.

"Our scout groups have seen Negan with groups numbering near twenty, and we're certain there are more." Paul continues. "Assuming that we have superior numbers could end up being our downfall."

"Nevermind that." Rick interjects again. "What happens if your people don't fulfill your end of the bargain?"

Paul freezes.

The larger man slowly makes his way across the room towards the window of the small room. Outside, in the darkness of night, fires flicker as residents gather outside their trailers for dinner or just general fellowship. A great sadness seems to sweep over Paul as he looks out over his people.

"If Negan doesn't feel that his group is getting half of everything we've got, or if they're feeling like reminding us just how savage they really are, they will either kidnap our supply run teams or go on a killing spree." Paul explains. "What they did today? That was a new tactic for them. I hope they don't start making a habit out of it."

"Why haven't you guys ever tried to fight back?"

To my surprise, its Carl who speaks these words. He's remained fairly silent throughout this entire discussion. His sudden voice in the conversation startles both Paul and Rick, who weren't particularly expecting either Carl or I to join in the talk at any point. Paul looks suspiciously at Carl. To his credit, Carl is much more hardened than most of the younger people Paul has likely encountered. He is probably having a tough time swallowing Carl's involvement in all of this, even if he doesn't say it outright.

"You have to understand," Paul responds. "That the people here are terrified of Negan and his Saviors. I've already told you that we have no ammunition. We can't fight back against a heavily armed group of thugs with homemade spears and a small collection of knives."

"So, instead you work your asses off and give them all the supplies you find." Daryl retorts.

"What if we were to kill these guys?"

Again, Carl surprises me by interjecting himself directly into the middle of this conversation. Its clear he has no qualms about getting his hands dirty in all of this. Only this time, Carl has roused a shocked response from not only myself, Rick, and Paul, but also Michonne and Daryl as well; and it takes a lot to shock the two of them.

"They're pretty bad guys, right?" Carl continues. "So if we deal with them, will you start giving your supplies to us instead?"

"You can't be serious?!" Paul exclaims incredulously.

"That's actually not a bad idea, Carl." Rick speaks up. "Our group doesn't have much in the way of anything. We're low on food and tools, and I'm not about to hand our ammunition over to you people if its just going to go to this Negan fella'. Perhaps that could be our trade agreement. In exchange for helping you with these Saviors, you'll give us a small amount of supplies."

Paul is visibly stunned. "Yo-You're actually serious!" he exclaims. "You're saying that will be your contribution? To fight for us?"

Rick shakes his head, "Right now, its only an option." he explains.

"Well," Paul says. "Its the best one we've got. Why don't you all sleep on it. We'll discuss it further in the morning."

Rick nods, "Sounds like a plan."

"Very well then. Follow me." Paul gestures towards the door. "I'll show you all some rooms you can stay in for the night."

####

The room Carl and I are given is dusty beyond belief; as if it hasn't seen use in years. And truthfully? It probably hasn't. Though a far cry from our little room back in Alexandria, I'm just happy that Carl and I have a room together alone. After the day we've both had, I need to be with him. Terribly. Carl seems just as stressed as I am, huffing rather loudly as he removes his sheriff's hat before lifting his shirt over his head and tossing it aside. I quickly follow suit and the two of us clamber into our bed in complete silence. The bed is significantly smaller than the one we're used to back home, forcing us to squeeze closer together, which isn't exactly a disadvantage. Certainly not something I'm going to make a fuss about. Additionally, however, the bed is hard as a rock. Was I not use to sleeping on the ground in flimsy sleeping bags prior to all of this, it would've been a real discomfort, but I'm able to adjust. Carl sighs aloud a second time, folding both of his arms behind his head, exposing the small patches of armpit hair he's amassed over the previous couple of years, and glaring at the ceiling in deep thought.

"Are we really going to fight?" I break the ice.

Carl keeps his vision trained on the ceiling, closing his eyes as if to process the proper answer to give me.

"I don't know." he finally replies, sounding not too entirely convinced. "I guess we'll do what we have to."

"Figures." I snort.

That manages to elicit a glance from Carl.

"What?"

"We finally have peace." I reply. "A safe place. We've lived there three years without having to worry about walkers, people, or even weather. And now..."

Carl's eyes narrow seriously, "If its in our interests, we've always fought. When we went back to deal with the cannibals in Terminus, against Nat. Remember?" he reminds me. "Sometimes fighting really is the only way to solve these kinds of problems. We've gotta do what we've gotta do."

My expression softens, "I know, its just..."

"What?"

Carl rolls over on his side, facing me, propping himself up on his elbow so that he can look down on me. Looking at him, the thought dawns on me that Carl has changed more than just physically these past few years. His demeanor and disposition towards certain things have evolved and matured as he's aged and begun to understand more about the world around us. In many ways, as I've noted before, he's started becoming more and more like his father. As he leans over me, waiting for me to respond, I can't help but notice how resolute the look on his face is, and yet, at the same time, how compassionate his eyes are. Gone are the days where he debates if fighting is really the right option. If it makes us monsters. Gone are the days where he will willy-nilly suggest we charge in out of anger or vengeance. Carl Grimes is no longer the hormonal teenager he was when I first met him. Though at the twilight of his teenage years, Carl has matured very much into the man his father intended him to become. He's ready to fight, so long as he knows its best for the group; the people he loves. At the same time, he is very conscious of my concern. The look he's giving me is perfectly indicative of that.

"What is it?" he repeats when I do not answer.

"Its... Its nothing."

I try to dodge it.

Carl has enough on his mind already. Dealing with my trivial concerns does not need to be among them. But Carl isn't having it. His gaze intensifies, almost forcing me to not look away.

"Don't lie to me, Tanner." he demands. "Wasn't it you whom, just yesterday, told me that we should bear each other's burdens? Not to take things on alone?"

Damn me.

Damn me and my giant mouth.

"You got me there." I concede.

"Then what?" he presses again.

"I finally have a family again." I blurt out. "You, your dad, Judith, Mich... You."

Carl's gaze visibly softens upon hearing this, but if he has something to say, he doesn't. Instead, he lets me finish getting everything off of my chest.

"That's something I never thought I'd have again." I go on. "My mom. My dad. My brother and sister. They're all gone. You. Your family. They're my family now. On the road, before the safe zone, I always feared something would happen. Either walkers, or people, or something worse. Something would come along and take that away. Then we had the safe zone and I thought we'd finally found a place where we could be safe from all of that. A place where I wouldn't have to fear losing my new family. Losing you. Now? Now we're going right back into another fight."

"We'll win." Carl tries to assure me. "Dad and I, Michonne, everyone; we've dealt with the Governor. We'll definitely win."

"At what cost?" I argue. "If something happens to your dad, to Judy, to you? Will winning really matter?"

That stuns him to silence.

But not for long.

Carl is never one to be caught without an answer.

"These guys are dangerous enough to threaten Hilltop." Carl says. "Its only twenty miles away from home. What if they come knocking at our door? What if they kill one of us then? Could you live with yourself knowing that you could've stopped them, but didn't?"

Now its he who has the point.

"I've been through that." he continues. "If I'd just killed the walker that I found in the woods, the day it killed Dale, he'd have lived. Dad had the Governor in a room by himself. If he'd killed him then, we'd have never lost the prison and all of those people. Lost Hershel. Beth. All of them. This time, we have to strike first. Before they can take it all away from us. I don't think I can go through that again."

After that exchange, there is hardly any room for words left, so I do the next best thing. My arms snake around Carl's bare torso and pull him into me. As usual, he doesn't resit, merely letting me envelop him in my strong arms. From there, he proceeds to snuggle into me. Even if I disagree with the method, he's right. Now that we know about these thugs, these "Saviors", we can't just ignore them. Alexandria is in danger so long as people like them are so close to our doorstep.

And I won't let anyone take my family away from me.

Anyone.

####

The stormy weather continues the next morning.

Even absent of rain, thunder rumbles in the distance. Its only a matter of time before the next downpour. Carl and I find ourselves outside of what was once Gregory's home, sitting quietly on the porch. Rick and Paul left us earlier to continue last night's discussion. At the same time, Daryl and Michonne have gone off to meet with some of Paul's men regarding the potential deal brewing between our two survivor groups. That leaves Carl and I with a day to ourselves and a new place to explore. I have to admit, the Hilltop is a visibly stunning setting. The community has more land than Alexandria does, obviously to account for its much larger population, and, even though our houses are much nicer than their trailers, the citizens here seem to live rather comfortably. Even so, I can sense a heavy air of mourning among the residents as Carl and I watch them go about their daily routines. Gregory's loss is being felt by everyone here. For a fleeting instant, I wonder how Alexandria would handle losing Rick.

I know I wouldn't handle it well.

I shutter to think of how Carl would handle it.

The loss of a leader is a severe morale blow. I'm sure that was part of the Savior's plan. By killing Gregory, they've sent a strong message to this community, that even their leader is reachable. Thought of the Saviors causes my attention to shift over to Carl, who is very meticulously watching the people of Hilltop proceed with their day. As he watches on, he seems to notice something that piques his interest, and begins speaking; even though he keeps his visual attention on the residents.

"Its so different here." he begins. "From Alexandria."

I cock my eyebrow, "How so?"

"Everyone... They're closer." Carl observes. "In Alexandria, everyone still operates in their original groups. There's been very little intermingling even after all these years. But these people? They all seem to know each other. Everyone is mourning the same way."

Only someone as intuitive as Carl Grimes would notice that. Returning my attention back to the community sprawling before us, I can quickly confirm that he is indeed correct. Despite being larger, that community is all intermingling with each other, exchanging condolences, words of support and wisdom; a very different vibe from home, where survival seems to be the focus of every outside conversation and people mostly stay to the groups they arrived with, with some minor exceptions. I could just pass this all off as Gregory's passing having a profound impact on the community, but even I don't think everyone in Alexandria would react the same way if Rick or Douglas were to pass. Perhaps Carl is on to something. These people have real chemistry here in their community.

"Its something special..." I admit in a low tone. "I'll give ya that."

Carl glances over at me and regards me with a soft smile.

When I was a young boy, back home, I can remember my mom always telling me that the longer she spent with Dad, the more she loved him. Even when she thought her heart couldn't give anymore to him, as the years went by, she found her love increasing day-by-day. Back then, I'd just shrugged her observations off. To me, it was just the ramblings of a married couple. Yet, Carl's smile revives that memory, stirring a warmth within my chest that I never get tired of feeling. I've determined that my mom's observations weren't just the ramblings of a married woman. Because I'm feeling that for Carl. I should be traumatized. After all the two of us have been through together, seen together, and survived together, I should be batshit crazy. I don't want to say something cheesy, like "Carl's smile has saved me from all of that", but its the truth. Returning his smile, I lean in and gently kiss his cheek.

A small reward for the love and consideration he shows me.

"You two seem to have woken up in a good mood." a familiar voice from behind us notes.

Turning around, I'm surprised to see Paul walking down the porch steps towards us. Carl seems equally startled by this.

"Where's my dad?" Carl demands.

"Relax." Paul waves him off with a smile. "He's meeting with your other friends and heading back towards the gate. Sent me to fetch the two of you and head that way."

Carl looks at me, obviously suspicious. I quickly glance between him and Paul before giving him a nod. I didn't see the hurt. If anything fishy was up, Rick would've raised hell and we'd have seen or heard it. The two of us rise from our sitting position and allow Paul to walk ahead of us before following him to where Rick and the others were. Paul seems to be enjoying the walk, having shoved his hands in his pockets, head slightly leaned back, and a defining smile on his face. His love of this community is quite obvious, despite the tragedy that took place only yesterday. Carl is watching him like a hawk. One wrong twitch and I'm sure Carl will have him at gunpoint without hesitation. That's just how Carl is. Despite this, Paul doesn't seem to be one for keeping the walk a quiet one.

"So, if I may ask," he speaks up. "What is your relation to each other?"

Well, I hadn't expected that one.

"What do you mean?" I ask clueless.

"Forgive me for being so blunt, but you two haven't left each other's side since you got here." Paul explains. "And then I saw that kiss earlier. Am I right to assume you two are dating?"

Carl throws me a smirk.

This Paul guy has a real big habit for underestimating the two of us.

"Uh," I stutter. "Its a little more complex than that."

"How so?" Paul inquires curiously.

I don't bother giving a verbal answer; flashing him a view of my hand, where my ring is quite clearly visible on my ring finger. It takes a moment for him to process it, but Paul's eyes bulge and his mouth drops all at once.

"Married?!" he exclaims. "At your age?!"

"Listen, buddy." I snap, somewhat annoyed by his continued reference to our age. "This'll be the third time I've told you. We're not helpless. We may be young, but we know enough to know that we love each other. So, yes. We're married."

Carl gives me an approving nod.

Its not often I get testy with someone, but, for some reason, Carl always finds it immensely attractive when I do and goes out of his way to let me know it. Perhaps its because I'm generally the "go-with-the-flow" type of person. Well, not when it comes to Carl. I don't care who knows that we're together and I care even less if they judge us because of our age. Though, to his credit, I don't think Paul was exactly judging us, more than he was just shocked because he hadn't seen such a thing just yet.

"How long?" the bearded man continues his questioning, ignoring my outburst.

"A year." I reply. "But we've been together for three."

Paul whistles upon hearing this, "That's quite some time. Almost the whole damn outbreak, minus a year or two."

"Why do you want to know?" Carl suddenly interjects.

Paul flashes him another grin, "Like I said, relax. I was just curious. Its nice to see love blossoming and surviving so early. Especially in these days. Wish we saw more of it."

I suppose I can accept that answer. Surprisingly, Carl seems to accept it to, walking a tad bit closer to me and using the opportunity to grasp my hand. I do enjoy going on strolls with him while holding hands, so this is nice. Paul seems to catch on to this and just smiles. Perhaps he was telling the truth after all. I almost hate to admit it, but I'm growing to like this man. He is quite the charismatic individual and, despite all the horrors this world has become full of, he's kind as well. Paul is a very rare breed these days. In that moment, I find myself agreeing with him. I really do wish we saw more people like him around. The world would start becoming a better place again if there were more like him.

"Your turn." Carl suddenly speaks up again.

Paul cranes his head back towards us, cocking his eyebrow.

"For?"

"You know something about us." Carl explains. "Now its your turn."

Paul chuckles at Carl's persistence, "Alright then, let me think." he says. "Well, for one, I'm like you two."

Now its Carl's turn to cock his eyebrow.

"You're gonna have to give us more than that." he retorts.

"Is it that hard to figure out?" Paul questions. Its then the realization hits me, but by then, its too late. Paul is already elaborating. "I'm like you two. I have a boyfriend as well."

I think that revelation hits Carl harder than it does me.

Ever since meeting Aaron and Eric, back when we first arrived in Alexandria, meeting other couples like Carl and I was no more impressive than meeting couples like Glenn and Maggie. It was just part of the norm. Perhaps Carl's surprise stems from the fact that Paul gave no indication, prior to now of course, that he is gay. Either way, Carl's surprise fades as quickly as it had appeared.

"What's his name?" Carl inquires further.

"Alex." Paul replies without missing a beat. "His name is Alex."

Carl accepts that answer and doesn't push any further. Our timing couldn't be any better. As soon as our conversation ends, we begin to walk up on the rest of our group, loading what seems to be a fairly large amount of supplies into the back of our vehicle. We both immediately offer our assistance, which allows us to get a glimpse at exactly what we're dealing with. Food and lots of it. Does this mean that Rick has struck the deal then? It certainly seems that way. Neither he, Michonne, nor Daryl say anything about it though. Once the last of the boxes is loaded for transport, Rick gathers us behind the van to have a final word with Paul and his assembled men.

"Despite all that's happened," Rick says. "I want to thank you for this. This food will help my people, and my family, through the winter. I can't put a price on that."

Paul smiles, "You know, Rick. If I didn't know better, I'd say you were starting to trust me."

"Perhaps." Rick replies. "My trust is hard to earn, but when you get it, I make a point to recognize it."

"Well then," Paul sighs. "I'll let you get back to it. I know you have people waiting on you."

"We'll be in touch." Rick declares as he leads us back to the van.

"Please do." Paul calls after us.

And then we're gone.

####

"Do you really think its wise to trust these people?" Michonne chides Rick after we've pulled out onto the road again. "These thugs. Their enemies. They sound dangerous."

"They are." Rick says.

"Those people can't even protect themselves from their own problems." Daryl chimes in, adding to Michonne's sentiments.

"True enough." Rick replies, equally as nonchalant as before.

"Then why-?"

"Listen." Rick cuts Michonne off. "That place, Hilltop... together with Alexandria, something historic has begun unraveling. Neither of our communities are prefect. Not even close. Those people back there fear Negan and his thugs, not walkers. In fact, they scarcely worry about anything outside their walls. Just like us. Most of the people in our communities don't know what its like to live out on the road, like we do. They wouldn't be able to fend for themselves. And yet, the live. The just... live. We have something special goin' for us. Both of our groups need each other. We need them for food and they need us for safety. We know the cruelty of the world around us and we use that knowledge to become the backbone of this new network we're creating."

"We're not trying to build an army, Rick." Michonne retorts.

"No." Rick replies. "But you know as well as I do, as well as Daryl does, as well as Carl does, as well as Tanner does, that anymore we have to fight to earn what we want. We can have peace if we fight for it. Safety, if we want it bad enough. Those people back there? We can teach them to defend themselves. Can you imagine? A network of survivors that know how to fight back against walkers and people alike. With something like that, we can finally do something about the walkers. This undead menace! Its only a start, but slowly, we can put back together civilization. Hilltop. Alexandria. This deal means a new ray of hope is finally shining into our lives."

Once again, Rick reminds me why he's been a leader for so long, and why he continues to be our leader. His words inspire me. For a fleeting instant, I can envision this world he speaks of. A world we've been fighting for over the course of five long years of the plague of undead. The walkers will never really disappear, but perhaps, together, we can make them a manageable threat and regain that which we have long since lost. A world where kids don't fear playing in the streets any longer, a world where we aren't forced to scrape for food like some sort of rabid animals. The world we used to know, or, at the very least, something comparable to it.

I find myself unconsciously gripping Carl's hand.

Like me, he is enraptured in his father's speech, but the feeling of my hand clasped tightly around his brings a smile to his face. I still have my reservations about fighting this group. These 'Saviors'. But Rick and Carl have both been right. These people pose a danger not only to our physical well-beings, but to the world we're fighting to create for ourselves and our families. For that alone, they need to be stopped. For Carl and the others, though, I know that this situation is also screaming Woodbury and the Governor all over again. And, knowing them, I also know that they're not about to allow such a threat repeat itself on their friends and family a second time.

Rick is not one to repeat his mistakes.

"I'm not going to let that light fade." Rick continues on as we round a corner, coming closer and closer to home. "Not when we've come this far. This is what we've been looking for. Every loss we've suffered and every day we've fought through has been for this. If this agreement succeeds... if these thugs are stopped... and if we all work together... We can stop simply surviving and finally start living."

* * *

**A/N: There we have it. Chapter 3. The enemy has been named, but we haven't seen them in the flesh yet. Just who are these thugs, what do they want, and what threat do they truly pose? All in due time, my friends, all in due time xD I hope this chapter was as intriguing as it was enjoyable. I'm pleased to announce that, while writing this, I finished up tying up the remaining loose ends in my outlines for this story, and boy do I have a lot in store for you guys :D For those of you who are comic book readers and may recognize what some of these scenes are based on, don't get too comfy. Like the TV series, this fanfiction is merely an adaptation of The Walking Dead universe, TV and comics, so I promise you won't be able to predict how I take this x) **

**I had a few reviews for the last chapter, so I'll answer them now:**

**Kayden Pause: Yep. Nothing like a death to kick off a story, right? Unfortunately his was probably the most painless that will happen in this story, but, no spoilers ;) Thanks for your comment.**

**Guest: Yus. Negan. Its funny how one word can tell you so much, and yet, so little about what is to come x) I promise you it'll be good though.**

**Thank you, also, to those of you who have been PMing me your thoughts and support. Really guys, I appreciate it all. Keep your comments and thoughts coming. This story is only getting started and I have a grand tale to tell ;) Keep in touch!  
**

**Until the next one, folks!**

**Later!**


	4. The End of Peace

**Disclaimer: This story is Rated M for a reason other than the obvious gore, murder, and zombies. If consensual sexual content of any kind makes you squeamish, turn back now. Otherwise, you're good to go. You were warned.**

* * *

I haven't seen the sun since Paul first arrived outside our gates days ago.

Even so, that doesn't stop Carl and I from enjoying our last day, back in Alexandria, outside.

Our supply run team is planning on making a run for weapons and ammunition tomorrow. All of this business with the Hilltop and the Saviors has Rick on edge and, even though the safe zone has a multitude of weapons and even more ammunition, he isn't taking any chances. While he and the rest of the team come up with a solid plan for tomorrow, I decide to spend my day with Carl. As if I'd ever choose anyone else to spend my day with. Once Judith is safely with Carol, the two of us head out to the local basketball courts. The courts were an addition to the safe zone that came with one of the recent wall expansions earlier in the year. During the late afternoon-evening time, the kids from the safe zone often play here while their parents mingle or work. However, its morning, the kids are home and the courts belong to Carl and I alone. When they were first added, it was me who mentioned to Carl that we should come here from time-to-time. Back during our time on the road three years ago, Carl and I had played basketball once with one another while on our way to Terminus.

We'd never had a chance to settle our score from then.

While I'd mentioned this place as a joke, referring to that occasion, Carl liked the idea, so this has become our little hangout spot ever since. And, I might add, Carl has become a lot better at shooting hoops than he was when I first taught him how all those years ago. The silence of the vacant lot is filled only by the sounds of the two of us dribbling the ball hard against the concrete, all the while trying to steal it away from each other in an attempt to score on the other's goal. Our games have evolved over the months we've been coming here, from simply playing Pig, which is the first game I taught him, to playing one-on-one basketball between the two of us. Even though neither of us is particularly fond of sports, it is very relaxing to take a day away from all the stress and hardships outside the walls of the safe zone and just play a simple game together.

Carl swiftly feigns right, catching me slightly by surprise; enough so to allow him to snatch the ball right out of my grasp, much to my protest. I attempt to chase him down the court as he sprints towards my goal, however, Carl is, as always, much faster than I am and he quickly gets a solid lead on me. Carl reaches the end of his sprint, launches himself into the air, and makes the shot. That's another thing he's improved at. Shooting goals. This shot hits the rim, the ball spiraling along the outside several times before finally dipping into the net and swishing through. He catches the ball as it falls out towards the ground, even as I come to a grinding halt; placing my hands on my knees in order to allow myself a moment to recuperate my breath.

"Ready to call it quits yet?" Carl jests, grinning at me.

"Fuck you." I chuckle. "You're getting too good at this."

"I had a good teacher." he retorts, taking the moment to wipe the sweat that has accumulated on his brow away.

"Apparently not good enough." I argue. "I haven't beaten you the last three times we've come here."

"I'm too quick." he gloats, tossing the ball towards me for the next round.

A ball I easily catch.

I may be tired, but my reflexes are sharp as ever.

We continue our game like that for another hour and a half. I actually manage to score a few on him before it is all said and done, but, regardless, he wins. I highly doubt he'll ever let me hear the end of it. This makes four times in a row. Either he's just that good, or I'm starting to slack big time. We both take our time catching our breath, chatting idly as we do. The sky is getting darker again. I wouldn't be surprised if it rained again during our run tomorrow. It'd suck, but we've dealt with much worse. Eventually, the wind begins to pick up, sending waves of coolness cascading over the both of our sweating forms. It is sweet relief from the heat and soreness gripping my body.

As I feel my stamina starting to return to me, I notice Carl glancing at me out from under his sheriff's hat, which he had only just put back on his head. His eyes are slightly glazed over, telling me something is on his mind. What, though, I haven't the slightest clue. I flash him my best smile. Its nice. Just the two of us. No one else around. No walkers. No drama. No killing. With the shortage of supplies, the runs, and the recent development with Hilltop, Carl and I have barely gotten anytime to just be together without any craziness, save the few fleeting moments we've been alone at night. I often catch myself missing the days, back before we were married, when we would sneak off together to do all kinds of crazy things together. That was when we were still on the road.

About that time, I begin to realize that, not only is Carl staring at me, but my eyes have latched onto his and I'm staring straight back at him. He's drenched in sweat from a combination of the heavy humidity and the game we'd just finished, panting ever so slightly as he slowly begins to regain his breath. I take in every delicious detail. The way the tiny beads of sweat roll across the pale skin of his cheek down to the edge of his mandible where it hangs for an instant and then, as gravity seizes it, drops to the concrete below. More noticeable, however, is his eyes. Carl's eyes are almost always intense regardless of which emotion he's experiencing. Happiness, sadness, anger, aggression, or submission, Carl's eyes are a powerful indicator of what is going on in his head and in his heart. At the moment, they're almost predatory; focused completely on me, with a slight edge of aggressiveness to them. If anyone else were to look at him right now, they may be a bit taken back or frightened. Carl's expression doesn't exactly look friendly, but I've seen this look hundreds of times over the years. I know what he's thinking.

Carl seems to catch on to the fact that I know what's going through his head.

He usually does.

I don't wait for him to act on it first, though.

Closing the relatively short distance between us slowly, yet purposefully, I press him gently up against the chain link fence he's resting against, lowering my head the short few inches that still separate our faces, leaning just underneath the hem of his hat, before planting a soft kiss on his moist lips. It was only intended to be a short one. Something merely meant to show him that I appreciate his presence. However, something changes almost instantly; almost as though a light switch has been switched on. I can't pinpoint what exactly elicits this reaction. It could be his breath lightly caressing my skin, or the way his soft pools of azure are watching me ever so studiously. Perhaps its the taste of his lips on my own. Or maybe it was the small splotch of freckles painted across his nose, and his shaggy brown hair, both of which I find incredibly attractive. Whatever the reason, however, I abruptly push him harder into the fencing, my hands finding his his hips even as my lips push harder down onto his. Carl lets all of this wash over him. His arms come up around my neck, hands pressing into the back of my head, even as he offers his best performance in return.

That's how it remains, at first.

No heat. No electricity. Just affection and gentle touching. That too changes quickly and Carl is the one who initiates it. He surprises me when his kissing becomes more frantic. Suddenly, he is taking my lower lip between his teeth and gently nibbling there before pressing back into our kiss. Finally, after what seems like an eternity, I feel his tongue snake along the entrance to my mouth. I'd been waiting for him to do that. In the back of my mind, I must admit that I wanted him to. I readjust, slanting my mouth over his, then granting him entrance. His mouth is hot. Moist. The moment his tongue touches mine, a jolt of electricity travels down my spine before branching outward to every nerve ending in my body. My entire being suddenly feels as though its trembling in his grasp. Funny how after three years, he can still kiss me and provoke this kind of response. As if that isn't driving me crazy enough, I'm suddenly very keenly aware of his aroma. We'd showered together again this morning, as usual, and Carl had used the same shampoo he always has. Even so, I'm suddenly very much aware of the aroma. The smell of a soft breeze with hits of raspberry fills my nostrils and my body starts going through all sorts of feelings in response to that. The most prominent being a warm sensation, like warm water, spreading from my stomach outward.

At that point, what started out as just an appreciative peck on the lips has rapidly evolved into a moment of pure passion.

His tongue dances with mine.

Mine with his.

At some point, my right hand comes up off of his hip, finding his own right hand which I promptly grasp, raising it up to head level, where I pin it to the fence with the rest of him; carefully entwining our fingers together. I don't even take notice of just how wrapped up and intense we're becoming with this until I suddenly and forcefully push him harder into the fence, causing his hat to lose its grip on his head and fall off to the side. We both notice this and quickly come apart, sucking in deep breaths as we do. As he bends down to retrieve his fallen hat, I'm not prevented from observing the effect our kiss has had on him. For one, his lips are swollen. Gorged from the feast he just partook in. But perhaps more noticeable, at least to me, are his eyes. Once sparkling with a blue as deep as the ocean, Carl's eyes have been replaced by two pitch black saucers. Like two black holes that I could fall endlessly in. He's not done with me yet, nor am I with him.

"Tanner." he says, his voice slightly raspy. "Can we go home?"

I don't argue.

Hell, I don't even both responding with words.

The most I can manage is a short, frantic nod and then we're both bolting for the house.

Its not a very large distance from our present location and we arrive only a minute or two later. Carl practically breaks the door open, waiting for me to follow him inside before slamming it shut behind us. He wastes no time double checking to make sure we're both alone and, upon confirming that we are, leading the way across the house to where our small little bedroom sits. Once we're safely behind the door to our room, I immediately reach out for him. My reach is clumsy, almost desperate, seizing fistfuls of his shirt in order to pull him into me. As soon as his lips are back on mine, my hands find his back and, starting just below the nape of his neck, I gently rub his back all the way down. He likes when I do that, further evidenced by what I can only describe as a purr that escapes from his lips. This kiss is much shorter and when I finally let my lips slip off of his, I lean in and rest my forehead against his own. His brow is moist with sweat, the hair covering it starting to stick together.

"How is it," I suddenly speak up, my breath coming in short, uncontrollable gasps. "That we've been right beside each other these past few days and I still miss you like crazy?"

A smirk touches the edges of his mouth.

"There's been a lot going on." he replies astutely. "We just haven't had much time for each other."

Now its my turn to smirk, "Well, I'm gonna have to fix that."

Carl leans up and gently pecks the corner of my mouth.

"No one's stopping you." he replies, almost in a whisper.

Its subtle, but he was clearly goading me with that one. It works. All at once, my hands are on him. The first thing I toss aside is his hat. Then I'm clawing at his shirt as if the last possible meal I'll ever have is just beneath it. I'm a little _too _frantic, however, and, in my pursuit to deflower him, I accidentally knock him backwards, causing him to land flat on his butt with a loud _thud_ on the floor beneath me. To a normal person, I suppose, that'd probably be a mood killer. It is certainly embarrassing for me, and I can feel the heat touching my cheeks.

"Sorry..." I grumble in embarrassment.

Carl, however, seems to find it erotically amusing and grins widely now as he reaches up, seizing the hem of my own shirt, to yank me down on top of him. So that's how we end up in the floor, my hands on either side of his head, mouth latched on to the soft, sensitive skin just beneath his chin as it curves down into his neck. Carl is incredibly sweaty from the combination of our earlier game of basketball and the actions in which we are now partaking, but I don't mind. The salty taste to his skin is even more erotic than I would've thought it to be. I hungry lick a stripe down his throat, stooping just above his collar bone, where I latch on to his skin and suck the blood to the surface, leaving a very distinctive hickey in its place. As I make my way back up his neck, Carl chuckles slightly. That chuckle quickly turns into a giggle and his hand comes up to playfully smack the side of my face, causing me to grin in the process.

"Tanner, that tickles!" he complains through his giggles. "Stop it."

"That was the point." I mumble into his skin, resuming my ministrations on his neck.

I finish joking around with him and finally devote myself to my original intention. Pleasuring him. My hands runs over the smooth skin of his chest, sliding all the way up to his shoulders where they turn around and slip back down his arms. All the while, Carl begins to squirm, trying to get his hands up and around my neck where they were previously. I use the opportunity to seize his wrists and almost violently jerk them up, pinning them above his head. This sudden action and forceful halting of his activities brings his attention completely to me, along with those completely black spheres of passion.

"Relax, Carl." I demand of him. "Let me do the work."

His arm muscles, which were once tense from fighting back at me, suddenly relax as Carl gives himself over to me. Now he's all mine. I immediately turn my attention to the two circular nodules on either side of his broad, pale chest. Over the years, I've discovered that Carl particularly likes it when I pay attention to these, so I lean down and take the left one into my mouth. A labored gasp escapes his lips as I do, forcing me to smirk. I love it when I'm able to drive him as crazy as he often drives me. I take my time with his nipple, rolling it between my teeth gently and then encircling it with my tongue, just like he likes it. Before I know it, Carl is shuddering uncontrollably beneath me. His body is experiencing so many sensations at the same time that he seems to be unable to control his own body any longer.

Its sexy.

Releasing his arms, I drag my fingers gently across the skin of his torso, causing him to shiver, all the while bringing goosebumps to the surface of pasty flesh. By this point, his back is arching and I'm having trouble determining if he's doing that intentionally or not. Whatever the case, I finally stop teasing him, curling my fingers into the waistband of his athletic shorts, which now have a distinctive bulge at their center, and make quick work of removing them from around his hips and long legs. His boxers are next to go and suddenly, I have a very exposed, very naked Carl Grimes beneath me. Oh God, have I needed this. The poor results on the run the other day had already stressed me to the max. Then there was the killing in Hilltop. The announcement that we'd be fighting a group of crazed psychopaths. All of it had been weighing heavily on me, and, I could tell, on Carl too. Seeing him lying beneath me, however, cheeks rosy from all the physical exertion he's been through to day, hair sticking together due to all the sweat that has accumulated between the two of us, and pupils blown with arousal, all of that stress and anxiety slowly begins to melt away. I suddenly become very aware of my own condition. I'd worked up such a frenzy that the collar of my shirt is ringed in dark sweat stains, my own hair, hanging off of my forehead, is damp and messy, and I'm panting for dear oxygen as if my life depended on it.

Only Carl has this effect on me.

No one else turns me on like he does.

No one else can make my chest swell with love like he can.

I've never much bought into the theory that everyone has someone out there that is made specifically for them, but I don't think I could love someone else as much as I love Carl. Adore someone else as much as I adore him. That's just my lot in life. If its not him, then no one else will work for me. I suppose I've known that for awhile. I've just never managed to admit it to myself before now. Before I know it, Carl is lifting my shirt up over my head, tossing it carelessly off to the side. He then moves down to my belt, which he slowly, meticulously unbuckles, all while maintaining a very erotic level of eye contact with me. Once it is sufficiently loosened, he makes quick work of the button in my jeans, swiftly unzipping the zipper in the process. While he's doing this, he does this cute thing where he bites his lower lip with the top row of his teeth. He knows I immensely enjoy when he does that and he knows how to milk my reaction for every second. But then his attention is back on his work and he is soon pushing away my own jeans and boxers, finally meaning that we're both completely bare before the other. In the three years we've been together, this moment has lost the nervousness that we once felt being completely naked in front of the other, even though it still bears the excitement.

My heart is pounding furiously in my chest and I can tell that Carl's is doing the same. I can hear the light thumping of his just beneath me.

Suddenly, his hands come up taking my face, a cheek in each hand, between them. His skin is scalding hot to the touch and I imagine mine is generating a similar sensation to him. He then sweetly sweeps a lock of hair out of my eyes and smiles at me.

"Love you." he declares proudly.

My heart melts and I fall against him, skin-on-skin, mouth-on-mouth.

Its a short, but no less intense kiss, that is only made more intense by the fact that our entire bodies are rubbing together; generating glorious friction between them as they do.

"I love you too." I mumble softly to him.

With that said, I resolve myself to finishing the deed. I reach down between his legs and take him in my hand. He instinctively bites his lower lip and arches his back in response. I gently fist his tender spot, eliciting several gasps from the back of his throat, before he reaches up towards mine and begins doing the same. The heat of his hand is made even more exquisite because of where it is. We take our time stroking each other, bringing each other to the ideal level of arousement before proceeding further. Its me who initiates it. Slipping my hands onto either side of him, I flip him over on his stomach. He knows what I'm after and spreads himself to grant me access. Intending to lube and loosen him up at the same time, I lower myself so that my head is level with his mounds, using my hands to spread him further, before dipping in and pressing my tongue lightly against his rosy entrance. Carl lets out an audible hiss and I can't resist smiling slightly as I then set to work. His skin is even saltier from sweat here, and I can once again smell the soap he used this morning, mixing with the natural aroma of the heat passing between us now. The smell is nothing short of mesmerizing. When I'm sure he's finally ready, I pull myself up above him once more, planting one hand on the other side of his head, while I use the other to help me line myself up.

Once in place, I wordless seek his permission and approval.

I know he won't refuse me and, in fact, would probably prefer me to go ahead and start, but I respect the fact that this is Carl's body and he'll tell me when he's ready or not.

On cue, he rapidly nods to me, mimicking my own eagerness from earlier, and I don't keep him waiting; pushing into him with one fluid movement. The sensation is absolute rapture. Hot, moist, tightness wraps around me and Carl squeezes down on me for added effect. I lean down over him until my forehead is lightly resting on his shoulder, giving him the necessary time to adjust. Once he's ready, his legs come up, resting the balls of his feet against my own bare mounds as a sign to me that I can proceed. The next several minutes is fully of frantic movements. The entire moment is a blur to me. A blur filled with only fragments of memories.

My fingers twisting through Carl's hair.

His hands reaching back behind him to grip fistfuls of my own.

The sweet gasps and moans that escape his mouth, and the answering gasp and moans that escape from mine.

Our hands finding each other along the carpeted flooring, fingers quickly threading together.

His pulse is frantic, his hand rough and sweaty, but I hold him there. Hold his precious hand in mine. He's got quite a grip which is only matched by my equally forceful grip against his.

All of this leads up to that climatic moment when I happen to strike the bundle of nerves buried deep within him, causing his entire body to spasm in orgasmic rapture. Even as he does, he clenches down on me, throwing me into my orgasm. I come first, involuntarily releasing a shrill of pleasure from as my body rocks against his. It takes me a moment, but when I finally come off of my orgasmic high and turn my attention to helping Carl reach his own. We're both panting frantically, but somehow I manage to lift myself off of him and help him flip back over on his back.

"Your turn." I inform him even as I bend down to take him into my mouth.

By this point, Carl is very sensitive to the touch. Therefore, when I take him in my hand and gently press my lips to his most intimate area, he involuntarily jolts slightly, bringing a slight grin to my lips. My eyes slowly drift up, meeting his, which deepens the scarlet blush spreading across his cheeks. I make sure to hold his eye contact as I slowly stick my tongue out and lick a stripe from base to head, eliciting a full and violent body shiver from Carl. I relish the taste of his salty, rigid skin on my tongue, before breaking his eye contact and taking him all the way inside of my mouth. For the second time that day, Carl's fingers tangle in my hair, and he holds onto me tightly. There is a slight sting as he pulls on my hair even as I continue to work him closer and closer to his climax, but it is a good sting. A welcome sting. A sting that tells me I'm doing my part right. My wrist twists, working the lower portion of him, even as my mouth works the upper portion. At that point, Carl's body goes into autopilot and within moments, his body rocks violently with the sensation orgasm, the only warning I receive before he coats the back of my throat with several jets of milky saltiness, nearly causing me to gag then and there.

And then, at once, his entire body relaxes.

When it is all said and done, I wipe any of the residual fluid from my lips and climb back on top of him and we both collapse into a hot, sweaty pile of limbs there on our floor; not even bothering to get up and crawl into our bed, which is only a few feet away from us. It takes me a good ten minutes to regain my breath and even then my muscles are still screaming from the exertion. Even so, I manage to roll off the top of Carl, allowing him a little space to catch his own breath and lower his body temperature. Glancing over at him, I thoroughly admire my work. Carl's hair, which was only partially sticking together before, is now a wild frenzy of locks and strands, some stuck together with sweat, others sticking out in all different directions. His entire face is painted scarlet, his eyes closed as his body continues to process all that its just experienced.

I'm proud of myself.

Only I can do that to him.

No one else but me.

After awhile, we finally do get up and make our way to the bed, where we collapse in exhaustion and curl up in one another's arms. Right where he belongs... Right where I belong.

"We should go pick up Judy." he says after sometime.

I shake my head, pushing several matted strands of hair out of his face before responding, "Let your dad get her. I want you to stay here with me."

His gaze softens.

"It'd be the responsible thing to do." he chides me. "We are home after all."

"Please?" I plead with him, suddenly sounding like a three year old begging for a new toy.

He regards me fully now, searching my expression for a moment before sighing in surrender.

"Alright." he says, letting a smile touch his lips. "You win."

I smile fully back at him, pulling him in closer to me before throwing our blanket over us.

"Damn straight I win."

####

The next day, the supply run team assembles before the gates of Alexandria at the crack of dawn.

I'm still, after all these years, not a morning person. Not even with the past year of supply runs. Mornings just aren't my thing. This morning, on the other hand, is quite different. Carl and I are in quite the pleasant mood when we arrive, and who could honestly blame us after the day we had yesterday? Everyone is already here. Daryl, Glenn, Heath, Michonne, and several of the others. To my surprise, Sasha and Tyreese are among the team. They usually cast their lot with the wall team, but its still pleasant to see them present.

"You two coming along with us?" I inquire of Sasha.

"Yeah." she replies simply with a smile. "Abraham's taking over the wall operations today. Tyreese and I thought it'd be a good idea to get out and get some fresh air."

Sound logic.

I'm happy to have them along anyways. Sasha is always a particularly lively individual and I enjoy being around her. Just the same, Tyreese is a man I've come to respect. Our conversation is cut short by Rick, who approaches from our flank. There is nothing unusual about Rick coming out to see us off. He's done so everytime we've left since Carl and I joined up with the team, but today he has a purpose. Today isn't an ordinary supply run. Thanks to the Hilltop, we have plenty of food and other necessities. This run is strictly for weapons. War is brewing and Rick wants to be quick to gather up what supplies we need to hold our own in the coming conflict.

"You all know what we're after right?" he inquires of the group assembled before him.

"Weapons, ammo, and anything else we can grab." Michonne chimes in.

"Right." Rick replies. "Try to keep it on the down low too. We don't want to attract any unwanted attention."

He briefly glances towards Carl and I, giving us a once over, before returning his attention to Daryl.

"How long do you think you'll be gone?"

"Maybe a day?" Daryl replies, slipping his crossbow over his shoulder. "We won't need to go as far out this time."

Rick nods and pats him on the shoulder.

He then turns his attention completely to Carl, whom he wraps in a strong embrace. The typical send off between the Grimes men.

"Be careful out there." Rick tells his son.

"I will, Dad." Carl replies. "I always am."

Rick nods again, then flashes me a look, "You too." he says with a smirk. "Don't be out there causin' any trouble."

"Because that's totally something I'd do, Rick." I retort sarcastically, flashing him a wicked grin.

A little humor always lightens Rick's mood before we head out. I'm certain it doesn't actually help in the long run, but if it keeps his mind at ease for the moment, then that is all that matters. Off to the side, Glenn says goodbye to Maggie, per the norm. Carol has even come out with Judith to see Daryl off. Carl and I are the only couple that actually goes out on these things together, though I'm quickly getting the sense that may not be the case for long. Maggie has been hinting for months that she wants to join up. With our goodbyes out of the way, we pile in our vehicles, Carl and I loading up in our familiar van from the previous run. Unlike last time, however, Michonne makes a last minute switch and leaps into the back seat of our vehicle.

"Hope I'm not butting in on anything." she jokes as she swings the door shut and proceeds to make herself comfortable.

"You're not going with Glenn?" Carl asks.

"He wants to drive this time." Michonne explains. "No offense to Glenn, but his driving is an eventual death sentence. I'll take my chances with you two."

I laugh out loud at Michonne's jab and shake my head as I switch the ignition on.

Its going to be a long day, but at least its gotten off on the right foot.

####

A spray of crimson body fluid.

Walkers are going down one after the other as our team presses further into the suburbs surrounding Washington D.C. There seems to be fewer of them than I remember being here the last time we were around the city. That can be both a good thing and a bad thing. If walkers are beginning to thin out in some areas, that can easily mean that they are herding in others, which, eventually, can become a pretty massive threat. For now, however, its a blessing that allows us to do our job quickly and painlessly. Evening is fast approaching and while we've managed to gather a significant amount of ammunition, finding any left over weapons is proving to be quite the task. I'm standing watch outside off small guns and knives shop Carl had stumbled across, while he rummages around inside. I don't have to wait long, however, as he soon emerges from the shattered glass door empty handed.

"Nothing." he snorts in annoyance.

"Wrap it up!" I suddenly hear Daryl shout to the group. "We're losin' sunlight. We'll do another sweep in the mornin' before we start heading back."

At least our day wasn't a total loss.

Ammunition was better than nothing. After all, we do have weapons back at the safe zone that can use them, and while the extra weapons would be nice, its the ammunition we need the most. Carl and I trundle our way back to the vehicles, meeting up with Tyreese and Sasha along the way. The scene is just like any other run we've ever been on. Those members of the group who have found something worth using brings their spoils to Daryl, who makes record of what we've collected, and then stashes it into Glenn's vehicle for transport back home. Once everyone is accounted for, Glenn hands out watch shifts for the night, followed by Daryl handing out everyone's nightly rations, and by then, night is setting over the East Coast. Carl and I, naturally, get the luck of the draw for first watch tonight. Not that we particularly mind. Neither of us is really tired and it'll give us a chance to talk. Once everyone is safely tucked away in their vehicle for the night, Carl decides to make a lap around the perimeter and clear it of any straggling walkers.

"So, what do you think your dad's game plan will be?" I inquire of him as we make our rounds.

"No clue." he replies. "We don't even know where these thugs are holed up. Doubt we can make a move on them until then."

I consider the information we know about these "Saviors" before asking my next question:

"Think Paul knows?"

Carl stops walking temporarily, staring out at the star-filled night sky as he ponders my inquisition.

"If he does," he eventually responds. "He'll tell Dad. Don't quote me yet, but that Paul guy... he seems alright."

This brings a smirk to my face.

Carl isn't one to trust that many people, but those that make a good impression on him usually get on his good side pretty quickly. At the same time, I'm personally happy he's come to that conclusion. After our little impromptu talk with Paul the other day at the Hilltop, I had gotten a very similar vibe from the bearded man. He didn't seem to be a threat and it is very unlikely that he would protect these Saviors from Rick, especially since he seemed to be just as terrified of them as the rest of his community.

"I agree with you." I say with a nod. "He seems to be decent enough."

"And what about me?" a sudden alien voice from behind us startles me. "Do I seem decent enough too?"

I whirl around to identify the source of the voice, instinctively reaching for the hilt of my sword in the process, but its far too late. As I turn, I see a very tall man, wearing a leather biker's outfit holding a gun right at the back of Carl's head. The man's most distinguishing feature, however, was the fact that the entire left portion of his face is completely burned, the flesh long having scabbed over and scarred.

"Drop it, bucko." the man barks, referring to my sword.

I grit my teeth.

With a gun to Carl's head, there is little he can't get me to do, so I comply, slowly removing my hand from the base of my weapon.

"There you go." the biker man chuckles maliciously.

I glance frantically at Carl, who is frozen in fear of the barreled weapon pressing into the back of his skull. Whoever this man was, he was sneaky. Neither of us had heard a single movement. Seen anything out of place. The result was that he was able to take us both completely by surprise. But just who is he? What does he want with us? I'd never seen this man before in my life, so it isn't possible that he has some sort of vendetta against us, does it? The man keeps his gun trained on Carl's head, while proceeding to glance back at some unforeseen force in the shadows. A chilling grin curls across the man's scarred face.

"Go on then!" he demands at the shadows. "Call Negan."

There's that name again.

Negan.

At once, my mind connects the dots and comes to a very gruesome and terrifying revelation.

_Oh no... Oh, no, no, no, no, no..._

I know who these men are.

My thoughts, as well as the ensuing silence, are shattered by a gunshot from the nearby alley. Its then that I see just who it is the man has been talking to. There are dozens of men around us, all emerging from the shadows of the nearby shrubbery and buildings. The gunshot has done more than draw the man's allies. To our left, the doors to our various vehicles swing open as Daryl and the others clamber out to investigate and immediately take notice of Carl and I's plight. They, on the other hand, are actually able to draw their weapons and point them at our captors, though, at this point, our camp is pretty much surrounded and we're vastly outnumbered. Daryl seems to immediately realize this. Just a quick headcount reveals at least twenty to twenty-five men, all brandishing an assortment of weapons, though not all are firearms. Suddenly, however, the crowd of thugs part and a particularly thick man, with tanned skin, and short black hair arranged in a widow's peak emerges from the pack; a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire slung over his shoulder.

He stands out from the rest, carrying a very authoritative air about him.

"Ho ho ho," the man with the bat chuckles in mock amusement. "What the fuck do we have here?"

To my horror, he approaches Carl and brandishes his bat, running the tip of one of the barbs wrapped around it down Carl's pale neck ever so lightly. Carl grits his teeth, his eyes bearing a mixture of hatred and intense fear all at once. Regardless, with two deadly weapons aimed at him, there is little more he can do but hold his breath and pray they don't attack. My own reflexes are on edge. In an instant I'm ready to move and defend him. I likely won't get far, but I'll be damned if I don't try. Without realizing it, I involuntarily his and tense when the larger man touches Carl. Its an action the man picks up on easily.

"Calm down there, cubscout." he admonishes me. "I'm not going to kill him... yet."

Carl snarls at this.

My pulse picks up.

_You're not going to kill him at all... Not if I can help it!_

"Shitting your pants yet, sheriff?" the man goads Carl with a sinister smirk.

"Let 'em go!" Daryl suddenly jumps in, barking from somewhere behind us.

This causes the man to look up, his smirk widening as he apparently spots Daryl among our group behind me. Everything about this man is throwing off bad vibes and he radiates danger and evil.

"Is he the boss?" the man directs towards the lackey who is still holding his gun to Carl's head.

"No, sir, Negan." the thug replies. "The boss is some guy named Rick."

Negan.

So that is him.

He is every bit as terrifying as Paul said he was.

"Tsk," Negan feigns disappointment. "Guess we'll just have to get our shits and giggles out of this lot, then. Gotta send this Rick fella a message, you see? You can't go fucking with our deals with other communities. Its bad for business, you know? Plus, its bad manners to go sticking your nose in other people's feuds. Just not cool."

"What should we do with them, sir?" the scarred thug inquires of Negan.

Negan's grin becomes even more malicious, "Line them up." he commands. "We'll play a little game with them."

* * *

**A/N: Gotta love how a chapter can go from one extreme to the next, eh? xD That smut scene at the beginning is probably going to be the only one for a very, very, very long time, so I hope I did it right hahaha Unlike the prequel, this sequel focuses more on the developing relationship of Carl and Tanner and how this new threat stresses it and makes it stronger, so the smut is less plot-relevant than in the last story, but I felt it was a necessary step to take in this chapter, so I included it. But the bombshell of this chapter is undoubtedly Negan's reveal. What kind of "game" does he have planned for our captured group of heroes? Doesn't sound too good, but you'll have to wait until next time to find out! I hope this was an enjoyable chapter! On to the reviews!**

**Youngblooded: I am! Good to see you again too! :D Hope you stick around and enjoy this one! **

**Kayden Pause: Yes, both are possibly right. The next chapter will officially set the tone for the story, so most of your questions should be answered in it. As for the "why" the Saviors have named themselves the way they have, I actually have an explanation for that I'm going to elaborate on in a future chapter, so stay tuned for that. It may or may not be what you're expecting! Thanks for the review!**

**Well guys, this one was a bit longer than the last, but I hope it was enjoyable!**

**Until the next one!  
**

**Later!**


	5. The End of Peace 2

I find myself on my knees in what is possibly the worst situation I've been in since Terminus three years ago.

They've lined us all up.

Carl is to my left, Daryl to my right, and the others continue on passed him. Our weapons have been taken from us and are lying beyond our reach, under the safe watch of the crowd of Saviors, all of whom seem immensely pleased with their catch. The cold night air rushes by, sending cold chills down my spine, which are only made worse by the predicament we find ourselves in. Negan, their mobster-esque leader, stands closer to us; his barbwire-wrapped bat slung casually over his shoulder as he observes his captives, our group, in an amused fashion. He is enjoying every second of this. The fear and uncertainty he has generated is fueling him like gasoline and galvanizing his pompous attitude. Up until now, our group has remained silent, fearfully obeying Negan's orders in order to avoid necessary casualties, even though, regardless of what we do, I don't see this ending well for any of us. Nevertheless, our silence is about to break. And no one other than Sasha is going to do it.

"What do you want with us?" she snaps, voice retaining its usual defiance even despite our situation.

Negan regards her with an amused glance.

"I already told you." he replies. "I need to send your boss a message. Can't have him thinking he can fuck with the infrastructure I've crafted here."

I notice Sasha's eyes narrow.

That answer clearly wasn't the one she was looking for. Negan also catches onto this and glances up, stroking his chin as if pretending to be deep in thought as to what to follow up with.

"See, there are rules around these parts." Negan elaborates. "Rules that nobody breaks. Now, I realize, you're new to this little network, so since Jesus and his Hilltop didn't teach 'em to ya, I'm going to fill you lot in, like the nice fucking gentleman that I am. Are you ready? Here they are, so listen really fucking closely. The rules are this; you give us your shit or I will fucking kill you all."

I wince.

This man is different from anything I've encountered since the beginning of all of this.

Not only does he enjoy striking fear into the hearts of those he terrorizes, he is gleefully murderous, and that makes him a very, very, very dangerous man. Back in Terminus, Gareth had kept us prisoner by locking us up, giving us time to regroup and reconsider our strategy. Furthermore, even though he too was a raving psychopath, Gareth didn't seem like the type to enjoy killing. To he and his people, the atrocities they committed were in the name of their fallen, as well as some sorely misplaced faith that cannibalism made them stronger. Negan and his Saviors are no such people. They enjoy what they do and try to do as much of it as possible. This time, I know it in the pit of my stomach, there will be no time to regroup and re-plan. Negan seems like the type to break his enemies, while giving them the impression that he's toying with them. There is no mercy in that.

"Now, before we get on to the main event, I've got a little message I want you folks to take back to your leader, Rick." Negan continues. "You lot work for me now. You fuckin' got that? Don't like it? Too fucking bad. See, before now, I'd never noticed your little gated community in that rotted out district of ol' Alexandria, but now that I know you folks are there, you're gonna have to start paying me rent. That rent, is half of whatever shit you've got. If you don't got enough, then find a way to get some more, or I'll fucking kill you. What's more, them fences you lot have built around your place? Real pretty, I might add. They're mine now. You see me or any of these handsome bastards standing behind me, you let us in, or we'll knock 'em the fuck down. Got that?"

No one speaks.

This is the worst situation possible.

If they take over the safe zone, then our last refuge will be gone, and we'll either be forced to serve Negan or take our chances back on the road. Mentally, I can't stop cursing. We'd finally found a place. Finally built a life for each other. And now, this man and his thugs are about to take it from us. Anger and grief swells in my chest, radiating out as a heat that pulses through every vein with every pump of my heart. I can feel the heat even behind my eyes and I'm forced to blink back tears of rage. There's gotta be something we can do to stop this guy. He simply can't be allowed to just do as he pleases with our homes!

"Now then," Negan snaps me back out of my thoughts. "I don't want to kill any of you, but I have to let your friend Rick know I'm absolutely fuckin' serious. I really mean that. I don't want to kill a single fuckin' one of you. I'd rather you work for me, after all, live people don't grow on fucking trees anymore. But, if I don't make myself absolutely goddamn clear to this Rick guy, well he may just get the balls to fight back and then I'd _really_ have to kill somebody."

Now my blood really turns cold in the veins.

Negan casually lifts the bat he's been resting on his shoulder, brandishing it at his side. A murderous grin curls across his lips.

"This ol' girl," he says, indicating to his bat. "Is Lucile. My favorite bat. See how I've wrapped her in barbed wire? This is how I hand down my judgement. See it with your eyes, then you shall feel it on your skin. Or at least, one of you fuckers will. Now its only a matter of decidin' which one to do the deed to."

My breath catches.

This is really happening.

This is really, actually happening right now.

He's going to kill one of us. I can see it in his eyes. On his face. His mind is made up. All around me, I see that very realization dawning on everyone else who is on their knees, lined up alongside me. Carl has gone ghostly pale and is reduced to staring at the floor blankly. He's so horrified that he can't even manage the tears he should be shedding. Seeing Carl in so much fear causes the hair on my arms to stand at attention. I want to protect him. I want to prevent him from being Negan's choice, even if that means I die in the process. But I can't move. Fear that Negan will choose Carl if he sees the tremendous fear on my face is oozing through my veins. But the one thing I fear most is that Negan will discover Carl is Rick's son. His plan is to send Rick a message, and there is no greater message than killing Rick's very firstborn child. The terror that comes from that possibility dominates my mind and soul, laboring my breath and causing my palms to sweat. On the other side of me, Daryl is completely stone faced. Even in situations like these, the redneck does not reveal his true emotions to everyone.

He's just that disciplined.

The others aren't in much better shape.

Glenn is stone faced, much like Daryl, but, like Carl, is also glaring at the concrete beneath him as if trying to will away the people in front of him by ignoring their presence. Michonne's skin is glistening with sweat, but her expression is unique among our group. She is quite visibly angry. Angry and frustrated. Michonne is my best friend, after Carl of course, so I know her well enough to understand what she's feeling. Helpless. And helpless is not an emotion that Michonne takes well. She's probably looking for a way out even now, no matter how hopeless things seem. Both Tyreese and Sasha, on the other hand, are wearing expressions of defeat. Tyreese more so than the ever defiant Sasha. All around, no one looks hopeful. Gritting my teeth, I return my focus to Carl. I want to keep it there. To see nothing but him. As long as I can see him, I'll know he's still breathing. That he's still there. I can't lose him. Not now. Not after all we've been through. Even as these thoughts are whirling through my head, Negan begins to survey the group for his choice;

He starts with Carl, repeating his action from earlier and gently pressing the tip of his barbed bat against Carl's chin, enabling him to lift it up so that my husband is staring him dead in the eye. Carl's look is ferocious and defiant, but strong. I can't help but admire his bravery.

"Holy fuck!" Negan laughs cruelly. "This fucker has got some spirit in those eyes of his. Someone as young as you, I'd figure you'd be bawling your little fuckin' eyes out by now."

Without realizing it, I tense up as Negan enjoys goading Carl.

Once again, Negan notices this.

"And what's your story, asshole?" he directs at me. "Everytime I touch this kid, you act like you have somethin' to say. You don't look alike, at all. You two fuckin' or somethin'?"

I grit my teeth tighter.

I don't even dignify him with an answer.

Negan turns even that into greater amusement, however.

"Oh my fucking fuck, you are, aren't you?!" Negan shouts with sadistic glee. "Well ain't that just the cutest fucking shit! Not really, that's fuckin' gross, but it'd break my itty bitty heart to break up the gay couple. Can't be gettin' called a homophobe. That wouldn't do well for my rep, you know?"

Next is Daryl.

"Boy, you's some tough shit, aren't you?" Negan berates him. "I've seen the way these people look to you. You're they're fuckin' hero, aren't you? Been through some tough shit and you probably saved their asses so many times. I can't go turnin' you into a martyr. You'll suffer enough watchin' your pals bleed, asshole."

I see Daryl visibly become enraged at that.

Negan isn't too far off, though. Daryl is somewhat of a hero back in Alexandria. Its no question that he's well loved by the group that made it out of the prison, and he earned my respect that night on the roadside, when he assisted us in freeing Carl and stopping Joe's group. To the people of the safe zone, however, he is the leader of the supply run team. The people that have been keeping them fed and taken care of over the years. To kill him would do the opposite of breaking the spirits of the the safe zone. It'd only rally them behind Rick to fight back against the Saviors and, from the way he talks, I highly doubt that's the result Negan wants.

Glenn is after Daryl.

"Lookie here!" Negan shrills gleefully. "We got ourselves an Asian, boys! Not gonna look at me, asshole? Fuckin' prick! I ought to beat the shit out of you as a warm up!"

To his credit, Glenn doesn't flinch; keeping his gaze down at the ground where its been since the beginning.

Finally, Negan stands before Sasha, Tyreese, and Michonne.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk," the mobster shakes his head as he looks them over. "Well, I just can't kill you three either! Same reason as the two faggots from a moment ago. Can't be seen as no racist. Just a bad fuckin' image to have! Sadly, though, I'm gonna have to break my own rules. Someone in this group's gotta die. But how to choose?! Its much too hard!"

My stomach twists in knots.

In reality, Negan's probably already chosen his victim.

He's just toying with us. Trying to make us anxious before his choice is announced.

Its working.

"Heh," Negan chuckles. "Hehehe... Hehehehehehehe! I have an idea!"

Negan directs Lucile at Carl.

My entire body goes rigid.

"Eeny, meanie, miny, moe..."

Lucile then points to me.

"...catch a tiger by his toe..."

Then to Daryl.

"...if he hollers, let him go."

On to Michonne.

"My mom told me..."

Then to Sasha.

"...to pick the very best one and you..."

Tyreese.

"...are it!"

Negan grins sadistically.

"Alrighty, boys!" he barks. "Bring 'em up!"

Panic.

That's the only word to describe the sensation flooding through me as several Saviors step forward and seize Tyreese by both of his arms and drag him to his feet. All at once, the entire group suddenly realizes that this is actually happening. It dawns on them that Tyreese is in very real mortal danger. And just like I am, panic strikes them. It hits Sasha the hardest. This is the first and only time I have ever seen Sasha break down. Tears stream from the usually defiant woman's eyes as she is forced to watch her brother be put back down on his knees in front of Negan. Michonne's furious expression turns completely murderous. Despite every last one of us desperately wanting to assist Tyreese, none of us can move. It is quite possibly the worst torture I've ever been put through in my young life.

"Please..." Sasha suddenly pleads, a groan of pain and terror escaping her voice. "Don't do this."

"Let 'im go!" Daryl demands. "You don't wanna do this!"

Negan's entire demeanor shifts, his gaze turning from sadistically gleeful, to plain murderous.

"Stay the fuck put, redneck." the Savior leader snarls. "Unless you want us to add the younger ones to the list."

Negan then temporarily turns his attention to his men.

"Any one of them moves a fucking inch forward, take the sheriff kid over there and cut his dick off, then feed it to his buddy. I'm sure he'll get a fuckin' thrill out of that anyways." he demands cruelly. "They can breathe, they can blink, and God knows they'll all cry, but that is all."

I take in this scene unwillingly.

Dozens of Saviors around Tyreese and Negan, watching on as if what is unfolding before their eyes is some sort of cruel sporting event. The rest of us are forced to watch this; our friend; being ritualistically murdered in front of us. I can't even begin to described the horrified grief and sorrow rising up from the very pits of my being. It shakes my body and rules over it, weighing it down like an anvil, ensuring that, even if I did want to move, such things would be completely impossible. That's when it happens. Just as Negan is beginning to raise Lucile above his head for the killing blow, Tyreese, a man I've never known to show any signs of weakness, begs of his life.

"Please..." the gasp escapes from his mouth. "You don't have to do this. Don't nobody have to get hurt here."

My eyes widen.

Negan doesn't hesitate.

The first blow to Tyreese's skull lands with a sickening crunch, spewing blood, skull fragments, and brain matter into the air. To my utter surprise and horror, Tyreese manages to remain conscious, staggering back to his knees. For a brief instant, I catch a glimpse of the terrifying damage Lucile has unleashed onto the poor man's skull. What I see is enough to force me to cover my mouth with both hands, suppressing a shrill of pain and anguish. The front portion of Tyreese's skull is caved in, blood and brain matter gushing out of the injury, even as one of his eyeballs bulges in its socket. I can tell that, while he's fighting it, he's already on death's door. There is no recovering from a blow like that. Suddenly, Tyreese begins to stutter, as if desperately trying to say something. This only seems to further amuse Negan and his demonic cohorts, who begin to laugh wildly at the damage they've created. Despite their noise, I manage to listen and hear what Tyreese is trying to say.

One word

One name.

"Sasha."

In his final moments, Tyreese, ever the protective older brother, can only think of his younger sister.

My heart breaks in that moment.

Next to me, Carl, who has done his best to remain strong through all of this, turns his head and begins to shutter as tears pour down his cheek. I feel the familiar hot sting on my own eyes. Its hard to even process just what we're witnessing, but Negan is not done tormenting the clearly dying man at his feet. The Devil raises his bat, Lucile, yet again and swings. This time, the wooden object, wrapped in metal spikes, slams into Tyreese's jaw, taking the lower portion of it completely off in a gory eruption of blood, teeth, and bone. That's all I can take. Unconsciously, regardless of the consequences, I reach out for Carl next to me. Unbeknownst to me, he has had a similar reaction, and he grabs the sleeves covering my shoulders even as I do the same to him. Tyreese falls forward and Negan brings his bat down a third time on the side of Tyreese's head. At the same time, I'm pulling Carl into me, knocking his hat off in the process, and quickly burrying his head in my chest; shielding him from having to watch anymore of this satanic travesty. My arms encircle him protectively even as he bursts into tears against my chest, sobbing so violently that his entire body begins to tremble. Carl isn't the only one crying either. Sasha is a basket case, and that is putting it mildly.

I can only watch on in horror.

"You bunch of fuckin' pussies." Negan spits. "I'm not done with 'im yet."

That, as it turns out, is also an understatement. Negan swings Lucile down on Tyreese again, and again, and again, and again. When he finally relents from exhaustion, Tyreese's head is nothing more than a mass of broken bones, flesh, and brain in a blood heap at the Savior leader's feet. Just like that, one of the people I've known for three years, ever since he and Carol returned baby Judith to the Grimes men, and one of the men I'd come to respect, is dead. Gone. Murdered brutally at the hands of a madman. Negan's bat is tangled with the gore still clinging to its barbed points as he withdraws it from Tyreese's broken and bloodied corpse. Somewhere inside of me, the anguish my heart is reeling with is suddenly, violently, replaces by heat. Searing, marvelous, murderous heat. Anger is creeping through my ever pore, every single nerve ending, and every last vein and artery. My expression must've changed, because Negan notices me, and regards me with a cold glare. In my arms, finally noticing the commotion having died down, Carl stirs and peaks out.

"Is this the end?" he almost whimpers; making my heart clench.

"Yeah..." Negan hisses. "Of your world."

I grit my teeth in fury.

This man has to die.

Maybe not here, maybe not today, but he will die.

I'll be sure of it.

"You're all nothing but a bunch of fuckin' useless pussies." Negan snarls. "What's the use of crying like a bunch of sniveling fuckin' shits in a world that's already over? Its time for you folks to try somethin' new. Whatever you fuckers thought you had going for you is over now. The world is over and just beggin' to be remade. I am the Savior who shall be the agent of that glorious fuckin' change! I just hope, for your sakes, tonight has been a solid fucking lesson about that. From now on, you tell that Rick he answers to me! You all belong to me as well! If he disagrees with that, hand him that sorry fuck's corpse to remind him what happens to those who don't follow my rules."

Negan and the rest of his Saviors slowly begin to clear out of the area, leaving my dumbfounded, horrified, and emotionally broken group to mourn over Tyreese's mutilated corpse in the streets. Its over. I can't believe its over. So many feelings, despair, horror, rage, and grief among them, are pulsating through my heart as I watch the monsters leave us. Before completely disappearing from sight, Negan stops dead in his tracks, tossing a glance over his shoulder at us and flashes us a sadistic grin;

"Oh, and welcome to a new world, you sorry shits." he adds. "_My_ new world."

And then...

...he's gone.

####

"Are you boys okay?"

I hear Michonne's words.

I hear her speak them and I know that she is referring to our physical well-being. Even so, I can't respond. I can't respond because I am most certainly not okay. Physically, I am unharmed, but my heart and soul have been eternally wounded. My entire psyche has shifted at the events I have only just witnessed. I've barely moved an inch since it all ended, still clutching Carl tightly to me as the two of us process the loss of our longtime friend, Tyreese. Daryl and Glenn have already, albeit slowly, begun the process of wrapping Tyreese's mutilated corpse in a blanket from the the backseat of Glenn's vehicle. Even though his head has long since been wrapped, I can't take my eyes off of him. Not even an hour ago, Tyreese was alive and well, as well as bound and determined to locate supplies the safe zone would need to fight off the Saviors.

Now he is gone.

Just like that.

"Tanner?" Michonne's voice brings me back down to reality. "Carl?"

Slowly, my eyes drift towards her.

Michonne is clearly, greatly disheveled. Her ebony skin glistens with sweat, her dreadlocks frayed and wild. Her warrior's eyes droop with fatigue and exhaustion. Even her usually strong demeanor is collapsing under the weight of the night's events.

"I don't know." I reply vaguely.

I then glance down at Carl to gauge his reaction for the first time. Its only then that I notice that I've been unconsciously stroking his long, coarse hair. I was in such a daze after the attack that I hadn't noticed the action, but now I could see my fingers gently running through his brunette hair. Carl's gaze is fixated directly in front of him, where mine once were, on Tyreese's body, which is now nearly fully wrapped. His once vibrant cobalt eyes have dimmed with distress and are glazed over, hinting that he is completely lost within his own thoughts. I can hardly blame him. Enhancing his sickly appearance is his normally pale skin, which has gone even more pale, giving him an almost ghostly appearance. Seeing him in this highly disheveled state makes me instinctively hold him closer and stroke his hair more gently; anything I can do to offer what little comfort I can. Michonne regards him, then returns her gaze to me, offering me a slight, subtle nod; her way of encouraging me to continue comforting Carl even as she raises herself back up to her full height and goes to offer her assistance to Glenn and Daryl.

As she walks away from us, Carl stirs in my arms.

"Its happening again." he mumbles.

"What is?" I manage.

Carl shifts in my embrace and turns himself around in order to allow him to look me straight in the eye.

"People are dying." he replies chillingly. "This always happens. It always finds us. Whether its walkers or people, someone we care about always dies."

I narrow my eyes.

Carl seems to be suffering from some form of PTSD. I know what he's referring to. Tyreese's death has jolted a dormant vault of horrifying memories Carl has carefully kept locked away deep within him, sending them bubbling to the surface once again. Memories of his Atlanta camp, of Hershel's farm, of his mother, and of the prison. Carl and I have both seen deaths since the beginning of the apocalypse. You can't be around people anymore without seeing it. The deaths he has witnessed, however, have been traumatic enough to have deeply, emotionally wounded him. I first understood that pain when Nat died, the first person to take me in, and then later betray me. A horrifying, gut wrenching feeling, that eats away at both your emotions and your mental stability. Now I'm going through it again, only this time, Carl and I are experiencing it together.

"Do you think we could have done something?" Carl suddenly questions of me.

"For Tyreese?"

"Yeah."

I inhale deeply and then release a large sigh, "No, Carl, I don't think we could." I reply honestly, still softly stroking his hair for comfort. "We were outmanned, outgunned, and completely surrounded. If we tried anything, more people would've died."

Carl huffs disappointed.

I don't imagine he thought we could've done anything either, rather he only asked the question to assure himself that Tyreese didn't die in vain. I return my attention to our surroundings and scan the others' activity. Sasha is even worse than the rest of us, having shut completely down, and retreated to her vehicle. In the meantime, Daryl, Glenn, and Michonne have successfully moved Tyreese's body into the trunk of their own vehicle and Glenn is currently on route, approaching the two of us, whom are still sitting where we'd knelt earlier in the night, when Negan had been present.

"We're going back now." he informs me.

I merely regard him with a glance and listen.

"All the noise those thugs made will draw walkers." Glenn continues. "Besides, we don't know where those guys went. They could be heading back to the safe zone for another attack. If that's the case, we need to be there."

Glenn is proof that everyone deals with death in different manners.

Though clearly in anguish and grief stricken, Glenn fuels that rage and pain into taking charge of the situation; the signs of a budding leader in a manner that would make Rick proud of him. At the same time, I know the Savior's escape and walkers aren't the only reason behind Glenn's haste. He is worried about Maggie, the same way I'd worry about Carl if the situations were reversed.

"Alright." I agree, nodding.

He returns my nod and then is off, marching back towards where the others are.

"Come on, Carl." I nudge him softly. "I'll drive."

Reluctantly, and after some time, Carl finally relents and makes it to his feet. I follow shortly behind him and the two of us make it back to our van. Once again, Michonne opts to ride along with us, though this time is nowhere near as jovial as when we had left Alexandria. The return trip home is marred with silence. A dense, somber cloud of sorrow and grief hangs over our convoy. Combined with exhaustion, driving becomes quite the task, and eventually, I'm reduced to simply following Daryl, who is several meters ahead, leading the way back to home. As we drive, I occasionally glance over to check on Carl. Despite the fact that he could use this opportunity to sleep, he doesn't. His head is leaned against the passenger window, hat in his lap, as he stares blankly out of the front window at the darkness of the night enveloping us. He's not the only one. Michonne isn't sleeping either, but I'm more concerned with Carl. Its been quite some time since I've seen him this way, and it worries me.

"Don't disappear on me." I finally blurt out, shattering the silence.

Startled, Carl looks up and then turns to regard me. Even Michonne perks up somewhat at this. I briefly glance at him, letting him see the seriousness and the concern in my eyes before returning my stare to the road.

"I know it hurts." I go on, focusing on my driving. "Believe me, I feel it too, but... Just... don't vanish."

When he finally returns my stare, I can see just how heavily this is all weighing on him. Carl, nineteen years old, and still retaining the youthful appearance of his teenage years, looks as though he's aged decades. His eyes droop with exhaustion, bloodshot from all of the stress and grief his mind is being wracked with. As much as my heart aches for Sasha, and most of all Tyreese, it aches more for Carl. If there is one thing that hurts me the most, its seeing Carl in a turmoil that I can't help him through. Oh sure, I can make things easier for him and support him, which I will, but, as in all grief, it is up to each individual person to deal with it their own way. Like Michonne, Carl was responsible for saving Tyreese, having saved them in the boiler room shortly after his group moved into the prison. Of course, as I'm told, Rick didn't welcome this and sent Tyreese and Sasha packing, but after the incident with Woodbury, they were welcomed back to the prison. Additionally, Tyreese had been the one to save Judith in the aftermath of the Governor's attack on the prison and was responsible for reuniting her with Rick and Carl. Carl respected Tyreese like he respects very few these days.

This loss meant something to him.

"I won't..." Carl eventually mutters softly.

I want to offer him my hand. To squeeze his firmly to let him know I'm here for him. Were I not driving, I'd do just that. As if reading my mind, and, like the best friend that she is, Michonne wordlessly pats my shoulder, garnering my attention, though not providing a significant enough distraction to impair my driving.

"Let me drive." she commands.

"You sure?" I inquire.

"Yeah." she nods. "Honk, so the others know, then switch with me."

I do as I'm told and the convoy comes to a halt.

No one says anything as I switch places with Michonne, letting her take my place in the driver's seat. As she takes my place, she reaches over and gives Carl a light shove in the shoulder.

"You too." she orders him. "In back. Get some rest."

Carl glances oddly at her, but doesn't protest, promptly exiting the vehicle and then reentering in the backseat alongside me. Once we're both secured, Michonne signals to the others and the convoy begins to move again. Finally relieved of the duty of driving home, the exhaustion from the days events hits me all at once. My body aches. My mind reels. The temptation to succumb to the sweet abyss of slumber is damn near irresistible, but a sudden touch on my shoulder prevents me from welcoming its dark embrace. I turn to see Carl attempting to lean into me and quickly lift my arm, wrapping it around him while simultaneously pulling him closer to me, allowing him to rest his head against my upper chest where I then rested my cheek against the top of his head. In the rear view mirror, I see Michonne smile softly. That had been her intention all along. I need to thank her when I get enough strength to do so. Returning my attention to Carl, who is steadily growing sleepier in my embrace, I nuzzle the top of his head and plant a series of soft peck-and-release kisses there to comfort him.

"I'm right here." I coo to him.

"Me too." he replies sweetly to me.

I'm nearly certain that is the last I'll hear from him before sleep takes us both, but I'm once again wrong.

"That guy," he starts. "Negan. He'll be sorry for what he did."

My mind flashes back to Negan. Just the memory of his smug mug brings the rolling tides of anger back to my stomach. I feel my stomach muscles clench and my cheeks flare with heat. Even though I was wary about joining the fight against these guys back at Hilltop, my resolve is forever solidified. We have to kill the Saviors. Every last one of them. They're not just a threat to Hilltop or Alexandria. They're a threat to every living human in this area. The walkers already threaten us with extinction. Now some of our own do too. Not anymore. I know Rick Grimes. What Negan committed tonight was an act of war. I don't know when and I don't know how, but Negan will die. That much I know for sure.

"Yeah," I reply to him as sleep begins to take me. "He's gonna pay."

* * *

**A/N: Soooo... I imagine that was a pretty heavy hitter, eh? There were never any main character deaths in the prequel, other than villains, of course, so Tyreese is indeed the first. Like I said before, in keeping with the theme of the show, no one is safe. Now that I've backed that up, that should keep you guys on your toes. ^.^ That being said, I hope this chapter was enjoyable in its own ways. Death itself is never an enjoyable aspect, but I'm more referring to the storytelling and the aftermath. This chapter was done a little bit earlier than I expected, but that is always a good thing for me! Next one should come later this week.**

**I got two reviews for the previous chapter, so I'll go ahead and respond to those:**

**Kayden Pause: Its funny how often those two emotions coincide, isn't it? xD ahahaha Glad you're enjoying.**

**I am who I am 987: I appreciate the compliment! :) Truly! I hope you continue to enjoy!**

**Thank you both!**

**To all of you who may read this and are hesitant to post your thoughts or comments, please feel free, whether its through traditional reviews or PMs. I do so enjoy hearing from each and every one of you guys!**

**See you all with the next one!**

**Later!**


	6. War Bells

Tyreese's death is etched into my mind.

There it shall remain forever. I can't wrap my mind around it. Can't process it entirely. But its real and it happened. Returning to Alexandria with Tyreese's dead body was one of the hardest things I've ever done. Rick knew something was wrong when we returned in the dead of night. It wasn't until he saw Carl that he caught wind of the gravity of the situation. Rick Grimes was visibly shaken by the sight of Tyreese's corpse. When he found out who was responsible, of course, he was even more horrified. Since Carl was in no condition to, I filled Rick in on the details of exactly what had happened. Needless to say, I included Negan's little "message" and Rick got it loud and clear. For the first time, I think Rick Grimes finally understood what we were up against. These Saviors aren't just bandits and thugs. They're not the skittish cannibals from Terminus, nor the traveling band of rednecks that Joe's group was. They're ruthless murderers. There is, after all, a reason Hilltop fears them so. Carl and I didn't sleep the rest of the night.

The following morning, Tyreese is buried directly behind the church.

Its a somber moment for everyone, particularly those of us who made it out of Terminus together and were present when Tyreese and Carol rejoined us. Sasha, who was a basket case the night before, has hardened almost overnight. Her expression is blank. The air around her cold. Maggie and Bob both do their best to comfort her, but there is little one can do to heal the heart of someone grieving over the loss of their only older brother. While Rick makes off with Daryl and Abraham to consider what to do now, Carl and I return home. The gloominess of the funeral follows us back and we don't even make it to our room; collapsing, instead, on the couches in the foyer. Both of us are immensely tired, but only Carl manages to slip off to sleep. I, on the other hand, am still wracked with grief, anger, and anxiety. Sleep refuses to relieve me of this. So, as I always do in times like this, I focus everything on Carl. If I tune out everything around me and focus solely on him, the pain is somehow more bearable. Only this time, Carl is gripped by sadness too and, sleeping, neither of us are able to talk about the issue at hand. The creaking of the front door draws my attention away from the sleeping form of Carl and I am pleasantly surprised when I see who has stepped through the threshold.

Tara.

Tara Chambler.

I haven't seen my friend for days. Not even at the funeral.

Being one of the few medics that stays in the camp at all times makes her a very busy woman. Nevertheless, I'm happy to see her and rise from my spot to greet her. Our greeting is a typical one for us. Wordless. She offers me her fist for a fist bump, smiling reassuringly at me in the process. Returning her good will, I too offer my fist, and the two bump casually. It is what she does next that surprises me. Before I can fully retract my fist, she seizes my wrist and tugs on me hard. I like to think I'm pretty solid, but Tara catches me completely off guard and easily manages to pull me into her, sliding her arms around my upper torso for a hug. At first, I'm a little shell-shocked, but slowly I warm up to it and return her hug. Almost immediately I feel the sting of tears touch the back of my eyeballs. Emotionally, I'm drifting out to sea, and I think she saw that.

"I'm glad you're okay." she murmurs as she clutches me tightly. "Both of you."

"It was horrible." I breath.

"Rick filled me in. Told me everything. I thought I'd come check on you."

We pull apart and I instinctively look back at the couch to check on Carl. He's still sleeping and, honestly, I don't think he'll wake anytime soon. The weight of all that's happened will keep him out for sometime. Tara's touch lingers on my shoulders, as if to reassure me that she's still there for me while I sort out my thoughts. Tears now blind my vision. Wanting to remain strong, though, I quickly raise my arm and rub the excess tears away from my eyes. When I regain my sight, I can see that Tara's gaze is full of understanding and compassion. A look that I've come to know almost as much, these past three years, as I've seen her sassier expressions.

"We should talk." she says plainly.

I reluctantly cast another glance over my shoulder at Carl.

"He'll be alright." Tara is quick to soothe my fears. "Let him sleep. If it makes you feel better, we'll go talk out back, that way you're close if he needs you."

That sounds like a fair compromise, though I am curious what she wants to talk about.

I nod my agreement.

I cast one more longing glance at my sleeping lover and then find myself following Tara through the house until we reach the backdoor and slip out onto the porch. The sky is is still pewter in tint. There is no sign of this storm system moving out of the area anytime soon. I really wish it would, though. The depression of the day is only made worse by the dank overcast sky. A gust of cold air gushes over the two of us as we step off the porch and into the dying grass of the lawn. Slipping her hands casually into her pockets, she comes to a stop in the middle of the barren yard and turns her gaze up towards the dull grey sky to indulge her thoughts. Not knowing what she intends to speak about, I merely keep quiet, mimicking her by placing my hands into my pockets, all the while staring idly at my feet. For a moment only silence hangs between us. I barely notice it, however. My mind has been stuck in a purgatory of grief ever since last night and now, whenever there is silence, I see Tyreese's death in flashes. Like some old fashion frame-by-frame film where only brief instances are shown. Tyreese pleading. His fractured skull. Negan's gleeful face. Its enough to stiffen the hairs on the back of my neck.

"Still thinkin' about it?" Tara suddenly pipes up prophetically.

I keep my eyes focused on my feet, "Yeah." I reply. "Can't get the damn images out of my head."

"It was the same when my sister died."

I know of Tara's sister.

Lilly Chambler was her name. Lilly had a daughter named Megan, who is also dead. They owe their deaths to one man. The Governor. I'd never been told how they were killed or why, just that they were killed around the same time, during the attack on the prison Rick, Carl, Michonne, and the others once used as their home. Ahead of me, Tara closes her eyes, allowing her memories of that day to come flooding back. Its been three years since then, and I can still see the pain wrinkle across her face as she recalls her sister and her niece. People used to say that time heals all wounds. I've come to realize that particular saying is one of the biggest lies ever told to mankind. Time doesn't heal anything. It just allows you the necessary time to make room for the hurt. To normalize it. But it never truly goes away.

"Did I ever tell you how it happened?"

I shake my head.

"Walkers." she replies. "She was never supposed to be in that prison yard. She was supposed to be out by the river where it was safe. There were just too many of those dead bastards around her. She never stood a chance. It makes me feel like a real piece of shit, you know?"

I regard her with a furrowed brow of confusion, "It wasn't your fault she died, Tara."

"It was absolutely my fault." she retorts strongly. Her tone of voice takes me back a bit. "Do you know what I told that man? Brian? The Governor. It wasn't even a few minutes after I'd first met him."

Again I shake my head, clueless.

"I sat him down at the small table in the kitchenette of the apartment we were holed up in, showed him my gun, and said, 'Do you see this? This is a fully loaded standard issue Smith and Wesson. I'm Atlanta city police and I have enough artillery to kill you every day for the next ten years. You mess with me or my family and I swear to Christ I will put you down.' I really said that."

"You weren't really police." I interject, grinning slightly at that concept.

"Nope." she smirks back. "But he believed it. At first. I don't know. I guess those words stay with me because I vowed to protect them. Dad, Lilly, Megan. But I trusted him. Let him get close. Dad died of natural causes, but Megan was bitten as a direct result of where that man hid them. Lilly died avenging her. If I'd just gone with my instincts and killed him then, they would still be here."

"Mich used to say the same thing about Andrea."

"The Governor ruined a lot of lives." Tara says nodding. "My family's, Andrea's, Glenn and Maggie's."

"Why are you telling me all this?" I cut to the chase, drawing a glance from her over her shoulder.

"Because its happening again." she replies plainly. "Negan. He's of the same ilk as that madman. He's already terrorizing those people you guys went to meet. Now he's killed Tyreese."

I wait patiently for her point.

Its true, I didn't live through the horrors of the Governor. To me, he is merely a legendary figure that I was told about by Carl and Michonne; sometimes Tara or Maggie too. I didn't even know his real name. Michonne had once mentioned that Andrea had called him Phillip. Tara calls him Brian. No matter what name one uses, there is no denying that he was a horrific figure who has the blood of many on his hands. When I consider her comparisons, I can see how she'd connect Negan to the Governor. Both men are somehow charismatic leaders, who attract many to their cause, even if that cause leads to the death of so many innocents. Tara clears her throat, snapping me out of my thoughts.

"I came to talk to you, because I don't know what is going to happen." she continues. "There's already been a casualty. There may be more before this is all over."

"Tara... I..."

"If its any consolation." she continues regardless of my protest. "I've got your back through this."

That genuinely shocks me.

I'm not completely sure why. Tara and I have always been close.

Still, something about the way she says it, and the sentiment imbued within it, brings the stinging sensation of tears back to my eyes. Once again, I'm reminded of the life we've all built here, and while Carl, Rick, and Judith are my only legitimate family here (as I married into theirs), I also have Tara. Tara and...

"And its not just me." she continues, almost as though she senses my line of thought. "You have Rick and Michonne, Carol, Sasha, Glenn, Maggie, and more importantly-"

"You have me."

The sudden deeper tone of voice causes me to jolt with shock.

It quite clearly doesn't belong to Tara and yet, the tone is so familiar that the tears building in their ducts finally find freedom and fall free of my eyes, spilling over onto my cheeks and tracing a distinct path across my face to the ground below. Tara's gaze tilts upwards slightly, just beyond me to the whomever just spoke, a soft smile touching the corners of her mouth. Tears still embarrassingly staining my cheek, I turn to bring the mystery speaker into view. Not all that surprisingly, yet somehow stunning, Carl Grimes is standing at the edge of the porch, just above the lawn, hands in his pockets like ours are, gazing down at me. Like Tara, he has a soft smile on his face. I hadn't heard him come out of the house. He must've woken up and come looking for me when he realized I wasn't around. I can tell he hasn't been awake very long. His clothing, while intact, is disheveled from all the heavy tossing and turning he often does in his sleep, and his eyes are rather puffy. Its quite a cute look on him, if I do say so myself.

Socked feet touch down on the dying grass as Carl steps down into the yard and quickly crosses over, hands still in his pockets, towards me. I can't resist. The millisecond he is within reach of my arms, I stretch out, slipping my hands around his thin frame, drawing him into a loose hug. He, in turn, leans his forehead against me shoulder and allows me to simply hold him. Its amazing how therapeutic just holding this man can be. His sweet aroma, gentle touch, soft skin, and rough hair. I could drown in it. All of it. I can't help but squeeze him tightly. Several more tears free fall from their ducts as a spontaneous flashback shows me Carl's reaction to Tyreese's death. I hate seeing him hurt. Seeing him cry. I have to stop that from happening again, no matter what the cost.

Tara clears her throat, bringing us both back to reality.

"You two are making the humidity in this yard even worse." she quips, hands on her hips in mock frustration.

"You're just jealous because you haven't found a girlfriend yet." I retort, sticking my tongue out at her.

This elicits a soft chuckle from Carl.

"Keep talking, pal." Tara barks, raising her voice. "When I do get one, I'll make sure we trade tongue in front of you two all the time, to make up for the three years you've done it to me."

Guilty as charged on that one.

Though Carl and I were discreet around the others back in the day, we were less so around Tara; mainly because she understood us better than he others, plus we enjoyed tormenting her. We've naturally become less modest around the others since our marriage, but Tara never lets us live down the moments that occurred in the years prior. Not to mention, its sort of a thing of ours that Tara and I will argue over our love lives and who has had the most fulfilling up to the current date. After marrying Carl, as one might expect, I gained a natural edge over her and eventually began to win all of our arguments. We are all drawn out of our banter by the sound of a creaking door as Michonne steps out of the house and onto the porch. Her serious, almost grave, expression brings us all back to reality.

"Rick wants to see us." she says plainly.

"All of us?" Tara asks.

Michonne nods, "Its important."

If Michonne tells you something is important; its important.

"Lead the way."

And important it is indeed.

####

Rick gathers us all in the sanctuary of the church.

Aside from the services that take place here every Sunday, the building has become somewhat of a makeshift meeting place for the town, or specific members thereof, in times of great hardship or emergency; this incident being a dreadful combination of the two. Today, Rick has assembled everyone. The entire safe zone, numbering some seventy survivors, are gathered in the humid, confined space. There is a low buzz of chatter as Michonne, Tara, Carl, and I step into the dusty old building and make our ways to the front, where our usual seats our for these sorts of meetings. Ahead at the podium, Father Gabriel, the man who married Carl and I, and the one who runs the Sunday services in this building, stands off to the side as Rick takes his place, bringing a lull to the once chattering room full of people. Preparing myself for whatever Rick has to say, I reach over and take Carl's hand, which is sitting in his lap. Carl offers me his best reassuring smile, squeezing my hand in his, before returning his attention to his father.

And again I'm grateful that he's there.

"Yesterday," the leader begins. "One of our own was killed. Murdered by a group of psychotic killers. This morning we buried him. Tyreese may be gone, but his memory isn't. I'm not here to beat around the bush with you all, or lie to you, so I'll get straight to the point. A few days ago, myself and some others from this community met with another community of survivors, like ours, called the Hilltop. They told us about a savage group of men who have taken to calling themselves 'the Saviors'. They're the ones who murdered Tyreese. They killed him and took glee in doing so. They thought that his death would be a message, loud and clear, that they own us and everything we've worked so hard for. They thought that by killing him, we'd stand down and surrender to them."

Rick lets his words hang in the air for a moment.

So far, his speech has had the intended effect. The entire community is completely captivated by his words, hanging on every syllable spoken from his mouth. Over the years I've known him, Rick has always explained to me that he had never chosen for himself to be leader. Back in Atlanta, he had merely stepped up and become involved in the fledgling group, and they steadily grew to rely on him in turn. Even so, I can't help but think he was born to be a leader. He is capable of enthralling the masses in ways a politician could only dream of doing. Once the tension was palpable, Rick picked up his words where he left off, drawing the crowd immediately back in.

"But, what they didn't realize is, we're not that kind of people. We don't submit ourselves to thugs, least of all thugs who murder our friends and family. I won't bow to their demands. If they want a fight, well, they've just earned themselves one. We have allies in the Hilltop. Between them and us, these thugs don't stand a chance in hell."

As Rick finishes his declaration, the hush that had previously dominated the room erupts into a variety of conversations. I'm pretty sure everyone realizes what has just happened. Rick has declared war on Negan and the Saviors and won popular opinion in doing so. Thinking back to the previous night, Negan had stated that the reason he didn't kill Daryl was to prevent the creation of a martyr. On that front, he has failed. Tyreese has become a martyr and a rallying point by which the community can stand around. I worry about his overconfidence, however. Rick wasn't there to see them. The Saviors are ferocious. It will take more than numbers and speeches to dissuade them from their current destructive path.

With the meeting adjourned, Rick motions for Carl and I to join him as he leaves the podium and heads for the nearby vacant church offices. We're not the only ones who follow. Abraham, Rosita, Glenn, Maggie, Daryl, Sasha, Michonne, and Tara have also come, filling the tight space of the office before slamming the door shut behind us. This room has a different atmosphere. This room is full of tension and sorrow. We've felt Tyreese's death more than anyone else out there except perhaps Carol, who is currently looking after Judith. We're still taking it quite hard.

"What's your plan, Rick?" Abraham opens.

"I need to go back to Hilltop." Rick declares. "Solidify our deal with Paul. I hate to admit it, but, we need them for what's to come."

"These people aren't soldiers, Rick." Maggie interjects. "We're the ones with combat experience. That's why they trust you to lead. They won't last long against thugs like this."

"As much as I hate it," Sasha adds, surprising all of us. None of us have heard her speak much since the incident. "She's right. I saw them, Rick. These people can't handle them. Without more like us, _we _can't handle them."

Rick meticulously glances between each speaker, taking in their input with a stern expression as he process the information. In the days since the Governor, Rick's leadership abilities have expanded to include battle strategist among his various talents. It was him, after all, who came up with the plan of getting us out of Terminus without any casualties. Minus my getting shot, his plan was a massive success. By Carl's account, it was Rick who engineered their plan of counterattack against Terminus the same night. If I trust anyone to lead this fight, its Rick. However, conversely, both Maggie and Sasha have a solid point. The survivors, minus ourselves and scant few others, that inhabit Alexandria, aren't battle trained. Those who already lived here when we arrived, have enjoyed a life of leisure up until now, and are nearly completely helpless. Those who, like us, arrived after surviving the road are hardened, but not exactly combat experienced.

"We needs soldiers to fight this thing, Rick." Michonne suddenly interjects, echoing my thoughts. "Not civilians."

Rick nods.

"I agree." he says. "Its time for this community to buckle down and toughen up. Despite all the hardships we've faced, this community has lived privileged lives with us as their protectors. Now its their turn to pitch in and fight for their keep. We should've done this from the beginning."

"What are you suggesting?" Tara inquires of him.

The elder Grimes settles both hands on his hips and glances at her;

"If we can't get more soldiers like us," he begins. "Then we'll turn the people we have into soldiers."

####

So it is settled.

With Abraham at the helm, Rick is setting into motion a plan that will offer all of the community's members basic combat training. The use of weapons, combating walkers and people alike, and other relevant topics are to be taught to them in order to maximize our chances against the Saviors. Of course, they'll lack experience, but at the very least, we won't have average civilians trying to take on an organized crime group, which would only increase our casualty count. Carl and I again find ourselves home, only this time, alone and very much deep in thought. All of these preparations, meetings, and general activity have all the telltale signs of a war-machine steadily cranking up its gears. Carl is a natural at this and still seems more stressed over Tyreese's loss than at the upcoming battle. This is not a new thing to him. His group went through the same preparations in anticipation of the Governor's attack many years ago. To him, this is the same thing, new people. I wish I had the same reassurance and experience.

"You'll be on the frontlines when the fighting starts." I blurt out, airing my concerns.

"_We_ will be." he quickly corrects me, casting a concerned glance my direction. "I won't leave your side. I promise you that."

His reassurance is sweet, even if it doesn't completely soothe my concerns entirely.

Carl senses this and is quick to scoot himself closer to me, reaching out to place callous hands against the curvature of my cheek. Its a sign of affection he's picked up from me over the years, as he is quite fond of me doing the same to him whenever he is in a frantic or particularly distressed state. His fingers are rough as he slowly, yet gently, rubs the cheek he's latched onto. I have always enjoyed the touch of Carl's hands, which are toughened and made callous by his months as a farmer, along with Rick, back at the prison. They're so unlike my smooth, average hands, which haven't seen the kind of hard work a farmer commits to the land he tills. Succumbing to the vibe of the moment, I lean in and rest my forehead against his, allowing our noses to briefly brush together; his hot breath dusting my skin, even as my own sweeps across his. Our mouths both stay slightly ajar, as if both of us are contemplating kissing the other, but haven't quite convinced ourselves to make the first move. Soon, my own hand mimics his, taking the opposite cheek from which he is touching, and caressing the contrasting softness of his cheek. We hold each other like that for minutes.

If I'm honest, I could probably do this for hours.

"You gonna kiss me already?" he invites, and I feel every word as a breath that lightly buffets my skin.

I rub my thumb softly against his own skin, mimicking his movements as I contemplate him.

My heart flutters.

For a moment, I ponder all that we've been through from the moment the two of us met until now. This isn't the first time death has hung over our heads like a dreadful black curtain. Its also not the first time people have been responsible for that threat. Even so, the natural anxiety of losing the family I've worked so hard to build is eating me alive inside. As I drown in Carl's mesmerizing aqua, my mind flashes to the worst possible case scenario; a scenario where Carl is taken from me by the same monster whom claimed Tyreese's life and I am forced to live the rest of my miserable life without my other half. Its a fleeting thought that lasts only an instant, but in that split second, my heart leaps with fear. The sudden jolt of panic brings along with it sweeping relief when I realize that I'm still holding him. He's still offering his lips to me. I still have him here. Regardless of what happens an hour from now, a day from now, and week from now, or whatever the case may be, right now, he's all mine.

I need no more invitation than that.

My lips crash down on top of Carl's, who hungrily invests himself into the kiss, seemingly pleased that I finally gave in and indulged his physical needs. And indulge him I do. Our kiss is sweet and its needy and its passionate. Emphasis on the needy, though. I can feel his urgency as he pushes his lips onto mine, as he frantically plays my tongue with his; even his breath is coming in short huffs from his nostrils, dousing me with the sweet heat of his breath. I let Carl take charge of what is usually my area to take charge in; kissing, of course. He dominates me easily and actually manages to elicit a quite audible whimper from me when he playfully bites down on my upper lip, inviting me to pursue him in his kissing games. As quickly as it began, however, it ends and Carl and I both release each other's mouths for several deep gulps of air.

I can't help but grin.

Carl certainly knows how to use the full range of his expressions to silence my dread. When his words didn't do the job, he relied on his physical love to break down my barriers. He knows just the buttons to press to get the reaction he wants. He is quite skilled at it.

"Better?" he chirps, pleased by his handiwork.

"Much." I reply truthfully, grinning slightly at his swollen lips.

"I told Dad we'd both come with him to Hilltop." Carl's demeanor shifts, even as he changes the subject, to a more serious tone. "I want to be there just in case."

That doesn't surprise me, so I merely nod my agreement.

"Tonight, however," I chime in, trying to keep the tone light. "We should enjoy our time together. Tomorrow brings with it it's own worries."

Carl grins slightly, revealing the jagged point of his canines.

"I think I can agree to that." he replies mischievously.

So, that we do.

As the moon takes its roost high in the night heavens over the planet, Carl and I indulge each other once more, in a much more intimate fashion, trying to tune out the cinders of war which are now beginning to ignite all over the small Washington D.C. area. The uncertainty of what is to come is certainly troublesome and even worrisome, but the fact that I have a wonderful person like Carl at my side through it all, not to mention the various assortment of friends I've accumulated in the time since, eases my mind and puts it temporarily at peace.

Peace that would soon be shattered.

* * *

**A/N: War bells are ringing in Alexandria! I hope you enjoyed that chapter. I thoroughly enjoyed writing it, particularly the first scene. In the previous story, Michonne got a lot of development from the advice and chats she had with Tanner, and Tara seems to be slipping into that role as well where he is concerned. As one of my favorite TV show characters, even with the brief time she's been with us, I am looking forward to giving her a much larger role in the conflict to come. As always, your reviews, follows, favorites, and PMs are greatly encouraged and appreciated. I love hearing what you guys think and speculate and feel!**

**Now onto the reviews!**

**Guest (1): I do appreciate the compliment! I try to write those scenes as vividly and as graphically as possible. I want you to be able to feel like you're there and saw it with your own eyes. Even in horrific scenes like that. Glad you are enjoying! :)**

**Guest (2): It was indeed intense. It will only continue to build as the chapters move forward! Thanks for your comment!**

**Obtained: Yay! Its good to see you again! I understand busy. I've barely kept my head above water with all the RL stuff I've been doing lately myself, but I'm glad you noticed this! Good to have you aboard again! No spoils, but the tension will come to a head in the future chapters! Stay tuned to find out what happens to Negan as well as our heroes! :D Thanks for your review!**

**Thanks again guys!**

**I appreciate the comments/reviews and you all taking your time to share them with me! Keep 'em coming folks! **

**I will see you guys with the next one!**

**Later!**


	7. My Name: Redux

Winter is arriving.

All of the telltale signs are already present.

Though the morning sun has begun its climb into the pale and ashen-colored sky, the planet remains frigid and chilly. The trees that surround us lay naked, having long lost all of their leaves. Beneath my feet, the grass has hardened in response to the cold, causing it to crunch beneath my boots as we again approach the wall of Hilltop. There are only four of us this time; myself, Carl, Rick, and Daryl. Rick's idea, of course. According to him, moving in small numbers would be best in order to avoid attracting the attention of Negan and his Saviors. As we approach, our breath rises in tangible puffs of vapor, joining together with the dreary air all around us. Today marks the first day I have officially moved into my winter clothing; a long sleeve, wool, shirt colored in lime, worn underneath a knee-length black trench coat which is buttoned up to trap heat, and a black wool knit cap pulled down over the top of my head, covering my ears as well; a pair of black combat pants, and a matching pair of winter boots. The change of attire certainly does it's job. I'm a lot warmer than I would've been in my Fall attire.

Next to me, Carl is in similar wardrobe, his cheeks crimson due to the stinging kiss of frigid air. I'm certain mine look about the same. His hands frantically seek warmth in the confines of his own blue-jean jacket to seemingly no avail. All of us are cold and tired. As our four man group breaks the treeline, a howling winter wind brushes the ground, buffeting us and forcing Carl and I to put up our clothed arms to block some of is fury. Ahead, I can make out the shapes of two men walking the top of the wall, scouring the countryside for walkers. Despite all of the disadvantages of winter, the season's change has one major advantage; the chilled air seems to slow down the walkers. This halves the work of the wall security teams in both Alexandria, and, I suspect, here in Hilltop as well. We come to a once-muddy pathway leading up to the wall. Each of our footfalls crunches through the hardened earth and, once we are in hearing distance of the wall scouts, it manages to draw their attention.

"Stop!" one of the men shouts. "Don't come any closer!"

From this distance, I can clearly make out the scout duo. Both are also bundled in winter clothing and both are wielding the spears we'd seen them wield during our last visit days ago.

"We don't want any trouble!" Rick howls back at them. "We need to meet with Jesus!"

I don't think I'll ever get used to that.

Well, to two things; Rick using Paul's nickname, which he hadn't done anytime prior, and Paul's nickname itself. Carl is getting used to using it too, though, so I suppose I have no choice but to conform and try.

"Stay where you are!" one of the men shouts back. "He'll meet you there!"

Pleased with the response, Rick relents to waiting. It doesn't take Jesus long to reach the gate from wherever he was inside. Before I am able to truly appreciate the wait, both large wooden doors swing open, granting us access to the Hilltop once again. From within the entrance to the community, Jesus emerges with a bewildered look on his face. The man clearly wasn't expecting our group to return so soon. Upon recognizing us, he hastily hurries over to us for a more proper greeting.

"Rick!" Jesus exclaims. "And Daryl, Tanner, and Carl! I wasn't expecting you."

"We need to talk." Rick cuts directly to the chase.

Jesus's expression immediately hardens, as if sensing not only Rick's urgency, but the gravity of the situation as well. Its almost as though the man can sense where the conversation is already heading and is preparing himself for the worst. The sudden shift in tone seems to alert the two wall scouts who have come along with Paul. I'm sure it is no real question of what is causing Rick to act serious. To the people of Hilltop, Negan and his Saviors are well known for their brutality and so I'm certain Jesus already knows they're involved, or suspects it at the very least. Wordlessly, the large man motions us through the threshold and into the survivor camp, before swiftly having the gates shut.

"What's happened?" Jesus inquires gravely.

"A friend of ours was killed the other day." Rick replies. "Brutally. You can guess who."

"Negan?"

Jesus flinches at just saying his name. While he awaits Rick's response, the large man glances around at Daryl, Carl, and I. The looks on our faces, all of us having been present for Tyreese's execution, seems to be confirmation enough for him, even without Rick's words as reinforcements. Eventually, however, Rick musters up the necessary fortitude to nod his head in confirmation.

"So then," Jesus continues. "They know?"

"If you mean they know about our deal," Carl suddenly interjects. "Then yes."

Recalling that horrid night, Negan had indeed indicated that he knew of something going on between Hilltop and Alexandria. I am unsure if he knew the exact nature of the deal, but that no longer matters. The damage has already been dealt. Jesus studies Carl hard for several silent moments. Carl stares back just as hard. I have yet to figure out what the two of them find so interesting about each other, but everytime they're around each other, both spend most of their time studying the other. Its something I'll have to ask Carl about later, as it greatly intrigues me. Either way, Jesus's face suddenly brightens up, as if a light bulb has gone off in his head.

"Oh God..." he breathes. "Did you two...?"

"See it?" now its my turn to jump in this conversation. "Unfortunately, yes."

Jesus grimaces.

"I... I'm so sorry." he continues. "To all of you. I can't bring your friend back, nor can I make it up to you for dragging you into this conflict. We should go inside." he says, motioning towards the house we'd originally met him in days ago. "We can talk more, in private, there."

Rick merely nods his agreement.

The demeanor in Hilltop has changed in the brief time since my last visit here. I notice this as we make our way through the survivor colony towards the small meeting place. What survivors I've seen so far all seem timid, as if our arrival has somehow put them all on edge for something bad to happen. I can hardly blame them. The last time we came here, their former leader was stabbed and killed by a captured member of their community, sent by the Saviors themselves. Rick too seems to have noticed this shift in behavior, as he is keenly eyeing the members of this community as we pass them by. Eventually, however, we reach the house and waste no time pushing open the front door and assembling in the interior front room. The house is just as dusty as I remember it. I don't know why I expected any change, but a man can dream. Jesus leads us up the familiar flight of stairs, leading to the room we'd met in during our last meeting; a small personal library that I suspect once belonged to Gregory.

"Now," Jesus breaks the silence, shutting the door behind us. "I don't suppose you all came here just to tell me about the death of your friend?"

"As a matter of fact, no, we didn't." Rick replies. "There's more."

Jesus silently inhales with anticipation.

"This Negan guy made a demand." he continues.

"Let me guess," Jesus interjects, folding his arms. "In exchange for your lives, you all have to work for him?"

"How do you know that?" Daryl snarls from the corner he's perched in.

"Did you forget?" Jesus counters. "He did the same to us. Half of our food and supplies belong to him. Otherwise..."

"...there'll be more killings." I finish for him, remembering Negan's words.

Jesus nods solemnly.

"We're not complying." Rick suddenly, boldly declares.

This statement seems to genuinely startle Jesus. I can see why it might. Negan is a truly terrifying figure who exacts his deals by spilling the blood of innocent people. To disobey such a dangerous and unstable person is an incredibly reckless decision, one Jesus was never willing to risk, but Rick, being the leader that he is, simply won't bow down. I briefly recall a story Michonne once told me; about how the Governor demanded Rick exchange her for the safety of the prison and while he originally planned to go through with it, Rick's consciousness wouldn't allow it to go through. Rick has never been a man to sacrifice his principles to appease a madman and so it is no shock to myself that he has decided to rebel against the fearsome Saviors. It is simply in the elder Grimes' nature.

"What do you propose?" Jesus queries cautiously.

"We have to put our foot down." Rick insists. "No more killings. None of our supplies go to him. We fight back. There are more of us and we can fight too."

"Fight him?"

"You have the numbers. Would you rather be slaves to that madman for the rest of your lives?"

"No." Jesus very nearly barks, a sharp rise in his tone. "But all the same, I don't like violence. Even less, I don't like it when my people are needlessly killed. That's all fighting will bring."

"I hate to burst your bubble." Rick hisses. "But in just the past couple of days, two people have been senselessly murdered because of that man. Now, we either give him a pass on that and send him the message that we're okay with that... Or... we stick to our guns and ensure he never does it again."

That shuts Jesus up.

Its funny how time changes people. Usually, I am very much against violence where it is avoidable. In my mind, we should save our bullets for the walkers rather than constantly shooting at each other. But this time is different. Tyreese was murdered. Slaughtered mindlessly by a man whom, in the same night, also threatened to do the same to the rest of my friends and family who hadn't done anything to provoke him. Had never even laid eyes on him before. The only way to deal with that threat is to kill it. In this instance, fighting back isn't senseless; its the right thing to do. Its the only way the Saviors will ever stop.

"We either fight." Rick continues. "Or we lay down and be slaves. Those are our only options."

Jesus folds his arms and leans against the nearby wall. His eyes glaze over as he dives into his thoughts and considers what Rick has just told him. I have to give him credit. His reasons for not wanting to fight aren't cowardly. The leader of his people in Gregory's place, Jesus doesn't want to needlessly endanger them. Rick has had to make that choice one too many times, though, and has experience as to why fighting is sometimes better than remaining peaceful. Once more, the bearded man's eyes light up and he suddenly snaps up off of the wall.

With a crooked smile, he declares; "There is a third option."

####

"Ezekiel?"

Jesus has hit us with a new revelation and one I wasn't expecting. Rick also seems flabbergasted and studies the older man meticulously.

"Run that by me again." the elder Grimes states in disbelief.

"I told you," Jesus begins. "Aside from yours, there are three survivor camps in this region. You know about us and the Saviors, but there is a third, run by a very reclusive man named Ezekiel. His camp is in the capitol itself, in one of the old high schools. Eastern High School, I think. I've met with him once or twice on Gregory's behalf. Maybe we could get him to side with us."

"How many people does he have?" Daryl chimes in.

"I can't say for sure." Jesus replies. "But at least a couple dozen."

"What makes you think he'll want to help us?" Rick continues to question him.

"His community is part of our trading network." Jesus explains. "They've been our allies for years. If we were to convince Ezekiel that the supply line is being threatened by Negan, he may very well join in on our side."

"You don't sound too sure of yourself."

"Nothing is ever certain these days." Jesus snaps. "But the more allies we have the better. I'll even volunteer to take you there."

Rick steps back and silently considers Jesus' words. The Hilltop leader is right. More allies could only heighten our chance for success. I use the break in the conversation to ponder Carl. My love looks to his father thoughtfully, anxiously awaiting Rick's answer. Time has repaired Rick and Carl's previously frayed relationship and Carl's admiration for his father has only increased over the past couple of years. He must've sensed my eyes on the back of his head, because he turns and regards me with a half smile. This whole situation, ever since Tyreese died, has weighed quite visibly on Carl. His eyes, usually brimming with determination and confidence, have dimmed significantly with anxiety and grief. I offer him the best reassuring smile I can. Not even a week ago, the two of us were happily back in Alexandria, more worried about getting through the winter than fighting a potential war. Now we have to consider both. I wonder, in my heart of hearts, if this is what Carl and his group endured when the Governor attacked them at the prison.

"Very well." Rick finally says, breaking my thoughts. "You take us there and I'll speak with this Ezekiel myself."

Jesus nods, "Good man."

"What about us?" Carl pipes up. "Are we going with you?"

Rick sighs aloud.

"No." he replies firmly. "I need you two back home. Keep an eye on Judith, help Abraham, Glenn, and Maggie. I'll take Daryl and Michonne. With Jesus that makes four people. That's more than enough for this job."

"And what if you guys run into trouble?" Carl argues, always persistent. "We did last time. It could be worse this time."

Rick carefully studies his son.

I often forget just how tense it can get when these two disagree.

Only this time it is Carl speaking from experience rather than Rick. Rick wasn't there with us on the road when the Saviors ambushed us and killed Tyreese. Other than what we've told him, he has no idea what he's up against. But, today, Rick isn't in the mood for arguments. His mind is made up and even though his son is an adult, the elder Grimes has no problem speaking his mind, even now.

"We'll have to risk it." he replies to his son. "Your sister needs you and I need you there too." Surprisingly, my father-in-law then looks up from his son directly to me. "That going to be a problem?"

I hate it when he does that.

Dragging me into his and Carl's arguments. I'm convinced that he does it because he knows dragging me into it is the only way to make Carl see it his way, but I'm still very much against such involvement. Especially because, this time, I partially agree with both of them. With Carl because I think Rick could use the extra manpower. Carl and I aren't children, even though we're young, and are quite capable fighters on our own. On the other hand, I know that Rick is counting on Alexandria to keep us safe, and is probably worried that if he takes us in the event that they do, in fact, get ambushed again, we could become Negan's next victims. Both Grimes men are now glaring at me, both seeking my support for their proposals, which only makes me further irritated. Before I can open my mouth, which will either get me in trouble with one of them or both of them, Jesus senses the tension and comes to my rescue.

"He'll be safe, Carl." Jesus promises, drawing the younger Grimes' gaze off of me. "I promise that on my life."

Carl's eyes narrow briefly before he releases a hearty sigh and relents.

"Fine."

Crisis adverted.

There for a minute, I thought I'd be put in the frying pan. I could hug Jesus right now.

The arrangements made, Jesus again escorts us outside. After being rather cozy within the house for sometime now, the sudden contact with the frigid outside air elicits from me a full body shiver. Though it is the season of my birth, I despise the winter. Being born and raised in Texas, later living in Georgia for several years before coming here. I am used to heat. Humid, sticky, dry heat. In Texas, this was almost all year round. Even in the winter. In Georgia, the winters were harsh, but it was still mostly heat. The cold in this region, though better than it would be further north, is something I'm still not used to even after three years of living here. I don't see how Rick or Carl, or any of the others for that matter, seem to shrug it off like it is nothing to them. I tighten my jacket around me to prevent future cold chills and trying to put the temperature out of my mind.

Carl and I hang back from the others, allowing them to walk in front of us. I occasionally glance over at him from time to time as we make the journey back towards the gate. To anyone who knows him, it'd be immediately apparent that Carl isn't acting himself. Head down, eyes on the ground, and silent to boot, Carl is quite visibly lost in his thoughts. Ahead of us, I can hear the others talking about something, but I can't quite tell what. I'm too focused on considering what all Carl could be thinking about. More importantly, is he alright? I purposely begin to walk closer to Carl until I can reach out and take his limp hand in my own. His hand is ice cold and stiff, however, by threading my fingers through his and squeezing tightly, I can feel the warmth begin to travel out of mine and into his, reviving it somewhat. He takes notice of this, almost looking startled as he is shaken from his thoughts. Carl curiously glances at my hand, the source of his distraction, then looks to me. That's how I know he's really out of it.

Its almost as if he didn't connect the hand holding his to be mine because he was so lost in his other thoughts. Eventually, however, he returns my squeeze with a much softer one of his own.

"Are you alright?" I ask him, flashing him a concerned glance.

Carl's gaze returns to his feet for a moment, pondering my question.

I'll take that as a "no", even though that's not the response I get:

"Dad should be taking us with him." Carl replies instead. "We can help."

"There are other ways we can help him too." I counter softly. "Carol has been watching after Judith almost the entire time this thing has been going down. She needs her big brother. Not to mention, the community is in danger too. That's our home. We need to be there to protect it."

Over the years, I've gotten better at telling Carl the way I see things; even if it contrasts with how he sees things.

In the past, I was always afraid my opinion would anger him if mine disagreed with his, but we've both matured in that regard quite a bit. In this same regard, Carl will always tell it to me straight, even if I don't always want to hear what he has to say. But, then again, he's never had a particular issue with doing that. Carl has pretty much always been a straight shooter, no matter what the case. That being said, I can immediately tell that Carl is torn between not liking my answer and agreeing with me. I can tell this, because he can't quite form a facial expression. He starts to frown, but can't quite seem to do it. That is because Carl is fiercely protective of us, his family. He's split between his duty to protect and watch after his younger sister, his desire to keep me out of harm's way, and his determination to fight by his father's side. Even so, reason wins out, and Carl relents again:

"I know." he murmurs.

He doesn't sound convinced, however.

I try to offer him reassurance with another squeeze of his hand.

"Hey," I prompt, getting his attention. "Your dad is one tough son of a bitch. He's going to be alright. And we're going to get through this. Just like we have with everything else."

Carl merely nods his agreement, so I make a mental note to make a concerted effort in order to make him feel better once we are safely back home.

Shortly thereafter, we arrive back at the gates of Hilltop.

Jesus informs his people of the mission he is about to undertake and assures them that he will come back in one piece. I can sympathize with his people's worries. They only just lost their original leader several days ago. Losing another would be a huge blow for them and one that could potentially drive a rift into the community. Once the formalities are out of the way, our group exits the gates without incident. Our vehicle, like last time, is parked downhill a short distance away from the Hilltop's main gates. Though we hadn't originally intended to be bringing Jesus back with us, there is plenty of room for him, and we are presently making the journey back to Alexandria, even as the sun reaches its full afternoon height in the sky above us. I continue to allow Carl to cling on to my hand as Rick drives us home. It seems, at least partially, to be helping ease his concerns about his father's situation.

The silence that fills our car ride home is peaceful. I use the opportunity to lean my head against the window and watch the scenery as it passes by. Its not quite the sight seeing that tourists would've done in the old days. The walkers didn't just bring rot to the human race, but to the entire world. Nowadays, everything looks like it is rotting. The trees, the grass, the skies, the remnants of human civilization laying in waste all around us. Its a depressing and, yet, morbidly interesting sight to behold. Every now and then we pass a straggling walker limping its way across the road. The sound of our engine, of course, alerts them, but they are much too slow to pose a threat. The road winds almost endlessly through the countryside towards the formerly densely populated metropolitan area.

It isn't until we are very nearly home that we begin to notice something isn't quite right.

There are tread marks on the highway that are particularly fresh and weren't present when we left earlier this morning. Daryl, an expert hunter and tracker, is the one who first notices this and alerts Rick. Suddenly, the silence that was once peaceful, becomes tense with anticipation. Our next clue comes on the turn right before reaching the gates of home. Dead walkers. With the treeline, they are much too far out to have been killed by our wall team. These walkers also weren't here this morning. By now, all five of us are on high alert. We round the corner and our greatest fears are finally confirmed.

The first thing that hits my sight are cars. Vehicles that don't belong to us. What's particularly unsettling about them, is that they are positioned quite oddly, and two of them are smoking. As I follow the trail, I realize that the reason they are smoking is because these particular vehicles are crashed into the gates of Alexandria itself. Rick immediately brings the vehicle to a grinding halt. That's when I see the true magnitude of the attack. The gates have been smashed open, several walkers lingering in the entrance. There are no immediate signs of damage to the walls themselves, but that doesn't quite matter. Walkers are in the camp and, scarily enough, they may not be the worst things to have gotten in. In a flurry, Rick kicks open his door, followed swiftly on the other side, by Daryl and then Jesus. Carl and I follow their lead, leaping out of the car after them.

"Stay close!" Rick hisses in a hushed tone. "We don't know what's happened yet."

Instinctively, we all draw our weapons.

Everyone of us knows we're going to need them shortly. As we rush the entrance of the camp, I use the silence of my sword to easily dispatch the straggling walkers, allowing us to safely push our way through the damaged entrance. Inside Alexandria is more evidence of an attack. Debris litter the street, a nearby car is blazing in an inferno, and yet, there is no sight of anything or anyone. The colony is like a ghost town. There aren't even any bodies suggesting a drawn out fight. Its only then that I realize where Rick is leading us. Before I know it, we're standing in front of the house that Carol and Daryl live in. The house where she was watching after Judith before we left this morning. Rick wastes no time kicking in the front door and clearing the front room. One room turns into two, then three, and before long, we've cleared them all.

No signs of Carol or Judith.

Carl is very visibly affected by this.

Where could they be?

Were they killed? Did they escape? Are they hiding?

There is literally nothing in the house that would give us any clue about an answer to any of those questions. In their favor, however, the house shows no signs of forced entry or a struggle. Knowing Carol, a very shrewd and cunning woman, they very likely escaped whatever has befallen our community. At least, they escaped this house.

"Where could she be?" Carl suddenly airs his concerns, a slight edge of panic to his tone.

My heart is racing.

"We'll find her." I assure him, though it does little to help either of us.

"Let's keep looking." Rick snarls, bursting back out the front door and into the lawn.

The search isn't in vain. Not entirely.

As we start up the street again, a woman in her late fifties stumbles out of a nearby lawn, having spotted us, and makes a beeline for us. I know this woman only by name. Margret. She is one of the newer members of the community, having arrived with her husband and grandchildren. On the surface, she doesn't look wounded, but her sobbing face tells me that something is still very much wrong with her. Her sobs quickly turn to wails as she reaches Rick and immediately begins to divulge just what has happened.

"Rick!" she sobs. "They came! Those men came!"

"Who came?!" Rick demands, attempting to remain calm.

"Those men you told us about!"

My heart sinks as my worst fear is confirmed.

The Saviors have been here.

"Where are they?!" Rick snarls. "Where is everyone else?!"

"They're still here!" Margret wails. "At the church!"

My head immediately swivels towards the steeple rising up in the distance, over several housetops. So that's where they are. We don't waste time. Rick breaks out into a run towards the building the aging woman had indicated to, with the rest of us directly behind him. It is a frantic, panicked run that sees us leaping over fences and through bushes to take the shortcut towards the building. The good news is that we reach the church in a very short amount of time. The bad news is what we found outside of it. Unfortunately, Margret was right. The Saviors are still here. I can never forget their faces. Least of all can I forget the man at the front of their congregation of evil.

Negan.

####

"Took you folks long enough." Negan barks in the open church lawn.

Negan is pacing back and forth in front of his followers, Lucile, his spiked bat from Hell perched against his shoulder as he does. Oddly enough, though, he isn't the most frightening sight I see. Rather, what's behind him is. The scene triggers a powerful flashback from the other night. Behind Negan, on their knees, are Glenn and Maggie. Spread around the yard, the others are being held off at gunpoint by the remains of Negan's forces, unable to do anything to help our friends. I cop a glance at Rick. The older Grimes looks absolutely murderous. It is clear that his rage has been fully tapped on upon seeing Glenn and Maggie in the current state, even on top of everything we've seen of the community up until now. Scanning the crowd, I am once again floored by the fact that I can't seem to see Carol or Judith.

The sinking feeling in my stomach is steadily growing.

"You let them go!" Rick barks his demand.

"Quit 'yer fuckin' yapping!" Negan roars in response. "Boys! Bring 'em here."

I'm blind sighted.

This whole thing was a trap meant to lure us to the church.

Suddenly, there is a very sharp pain in my side, knocking the wind out of me as we're ambushed from behind. Before I can stagger to recover, my weapon is stripped from me, tossed to the side, and I am violently restrained. It doesn't take me long to see that Rick, Daryl, Carl, and Jesus are suffering from similar treatment. Against our will, we are dragged towards the lawn and promptly shoved down in front of Negan, mere feet away from where Glenn and Maggie are being held. Glenn bares a look similar to Rick's. Murderous, yet unable to do anything about his current predicament. Maggie, on the other hand, looks completely distraught by her position. Defiant, but distraught. Above us, Negan continues to pace, treating the whole situation as if its some sick game to him.

"I thought," the gang leader booms. "I sent a message loud and fucking clear. Kill a guy, I told myself, and they'll get the fuckin' picture. Imagine my shock when my scouts tell me you assholes are still meetin' with one another! Concocting your little fuckin' schemes, no doubt. I see you even brought Jesus with you!"

Negan stops in front of the bearded man and offers him a demonic sneer.

"How'd that turn out for 'ya, shithead?" he continues. "I have to hand it to 'ya, Rick. You are Rick, right?" Negan jeers at the elder Grimes. "This is a pretty sweet fuckin' set up you guys got here. Sorry I had to go and ruin your front door, but your two friends here weren't too keen on letting us in. So let this be a lesson to you. If I tell you to open those goddamn gates, you open those motherfuckers up! Got it?!"

Rick is visibly seething.

In all my years of knowing him, I don't think I've ever seen the elder Grimes in such a furious state. I know he's only got a few more seconds in him before he blows.

"Now, I've got to do something about you." Negan hisses. "Killin' one of 'yer buddies didn't do the fuckin' trick. So, I thought to myself, what can I do to get my point across to you? I think I've come to a pretty good goddamn solution, I tell ya. See, word on the street is, you have a kid."

My heart freezes.

"And I was thinkin' that if somethin' were to happen to this kid, you might get the fuckin' point."

That's all Rick can take.

He lunges.

Negan is prepared for this, however. In fact, I really believe that he intentionally provoked Rick into attacking, giving him a reason to throw out his rather large foot, catching the elder Grimes in the gut and sending him hard to the earth below. Rick immediately struggles to recover, but is once again seized and restrained from behind by one of Negan's goons. My heart grows ever colder. If Rick can't stop this guy, then who can? Ever the defiant one, however, Rick doesn't just lay down.

"You leave my family alone!" he snarls.

"You should've thought about that before you started fuckin' with the natural order of things around here." Negan growls back equally menacing. "Problem is, I don't know which one of these dipshits is your kids, but I'm willing to bet, its one of these two assholes here."

Now my heart is solid ice.

Because Negan, using Lucile, first points at Carl and then myself.

"I saw them before, the other night." Negan goes on. "Can't be a coincidence that they're with you this time. It just fuckin' can't be. So, I'm gonna play another little game with you assholes." he gestures to everyone. "One of you is going to tell me which one of these bastards is Rick's kid. If you don't, I'll start shootin' people. There are quite a few here, so this little game can go on all fuckin' night until I find who I'm lookin' for. Got it?"

How?

How could this happen?

Negan doesn't seem to know about Judith. He's looking for Carl. What can I do? Only horror awaits Carl if Negan finds out which one of us he is. But if we say nothing, members of our community, our friends and family, will get killed. No matter what we lose people. There is no way to win this one, except to fight back and die trying to escape. And that's a hopeless situation anyways.

"Unless," the monster continues. "One of you wants to confess and save us the fuckin' suspense."

I won't give up Carl.

I wouldn't do that even if he kills me. But I'm suddenly worried that Carl will give himself up. He's the type to do that. In exchange for my life, his father's, and that of his friends', he'd very quickly give up his own life. And this time, Rick can't stop him. I want to look over at Carl. Gauge his reaction. But I can't. I don't want to risk anything that will give him away. There's just gotta be a way out of this! And then the idea cements in my head. There is risk involved, and yes, if it works out, I won't be in too good of condition, but its the only way I can see to protect Carl, Rick, and everyone else.

"No? Well then..."

"Wait!"

My voice pierces the air and just like that, the gaze of the entire community is on me.

"I don't want to see anyone else get killed." I murmur, a tremble in my voice. I manage to glance at Carl, seeing the stunned look in his face. "I'm sorry..." I whisper to him.

His eyes couldn't possibly get any wider.

But if he's expecting me to give him up, he's wrong.

"I'm the one you're looking for." I declare, voice quivering more now.

Carl's expression goes pale.

Even Rick is stunned to silence. Neither of them expected that. Its probably the only time I've ever stunned both Grimes men to complete silence. Carl's eyes suddenly fill with tears. Its probably the quickest I've ever seen him go from silent and stoic to emotional. The sight of him like that breaks my heart, but even more heart tugging is the words he manages to speak through his own trembling voice:

"Don't..." he pleads with me. "Don't you do it!"

As I suspected, Carl is sharp.

He already knows what I'm about to do, but I don't have a choice. I can't stop now. Negan grins sadistically. He is enjoying the pain he is forcing out of all of us like the sick bastard he is.

"I have to." I reply to Carl, closing my eyes as I resign myself to my fate. "Negan, you don't have to kill anyone. I'm Rick's kid. His son."

Negan's face is nothing short of sadistic glee.

Carl is quick to protest, "No! You'r-"

"Shut the fuck up!" Negan barks at him, waving his bat threateningly at Carl. He then turns his attention to me. "What's your name, brat?"

Brat.

I never considered a twenty year old man to be a brat, but Negan is always demeaning.

"Tanner..." I reply.

Bradly.

I should say Tanner Bradly.

When Carl and I got married, we didn't change our last names for one or the other. We both agreed that, like Glenn and Maggie had before us, doing so was an old formality and that such a change didn't mean anything about of feelings for one another. But here, now, in a sick twist of fate, my perspective of that has changed. In my mind, I'm going to die. Especially if Negan buys my story. To make my story convincing, however, I can't say Bradly. In the off chance that Negan knows Rick's last name, he'll know I'm lying, and then we'll both die. I can't have that. Furthermore, if I'm really going to die, I want Carl to know here in front of everyone, in the face of death, that I've always considered myself his. Even though he should know that by now, at least this way, he knows without a doubt.

"...Grimes." I finish. "Tanner Grimes."

Negan nods with his signature smirk.

So he did know Rick's last name.

"Well, Tanner Grimes," Negan repeats. "Its nothin' personal, I really fuckin' hate doing shit like this. Bring him up!"

My heart races.

"NO!" Carl shrieks behind me.

Every word he's spoken since this started has shattered my heart more and more. His shrill puts one more crack in my soul. I hate that he's hurting. But I won't let this happen to him. I'm very roughly dragged to my feet and forced behind Negan. To my shock and confusion, however, they don't have me kneel like they did with Tyreese. Does that mean that they have some other sadistic plan for my death? If so, I hope its over quickly. I'm not very big on the whole idea of pain and torture.

"Let 'im go!" Rick hisses.

"Like I said, Rick." Negan retorts. "Gotta get the fuckin' message through your head. We'll decide what to do with your boy when we get back to our crib. You try anything before we get outta here and, well, you'll be burying a lot more than just him."

So that's their plan.

Kidnap.

Great. They _are_ going to drag this thing out.

"I'll be back in three days, Rick." Negan threatens. "Better fork over half your fuckin' goods by then, or this kid's history."

Rick snarls his protest, but its all in vain. There is literally nothing he can do to prevent it from happening. The Saviors, with me as their prisoner, begin to disperse and head back towards the wall. Free of his imprisonment, Carl immediately tries to dash for me, only to be recaptured by his father and restrained. The sight of Carl restrained, tears flowing from his gorgeous sapphire eyes, shatters the last bit of strength my heart has in it. I feel several warm drops of tears fall against my cheeks. I don't even try to resist them any longer. There are no goodbyes this time. No hugs. No reassuring words. I am simply dragged away as the Saviors depart, smashing through the remains of the gate. Negan personally shoves me into the large truck that is his personal ride, allowing me to fall into the backseat. He promptly slams the door shut, locking it, before climbing into the driver's seat. The Saviors all file out and quickly reclaim the vehicles they'd come in. I take one last look at Alexandria, at home...

The engines roar to life...

...and we're gone.

* * *

**A/N: MAJOR cliffhanger. Bet none of you were expecting that! xD Now, I must apologize. This chapter was supposed to be done days ago, but I had something come up at home, and that slowed my writing down considerably. Nevertheless, I am back on track, and this story is only going to be getting more suspenseful from here on out! Poor Tanner, huh? Like I said. No one's safe. Not even the protagonist! hahaha You'll have to wait until next chapter to find out what happens to him though! No spoilers! :3**

**Now onto the reviews: **

**Kayden Pause: Do you love him now? xD Oh, and if you think this is as twisted as the guy gets, we're only just getting started. Negan is a whole new level of fucked up. I have to admit, writing this chapter, particularly the last portion, gave me a sick stomach for obvious reasons, but that let me know I was doing something right. Definitely last chapter was filler for this one and those to come. It gets better from here on out! Glad you're enjoying so far! Thanks :)**

**tentails: Well, if its any consolation, there was an attack xD Not on Hilltop though. And no, Beth will not appear. As I explained in the last story, there are a bunch of different things that could've happened to her, and I'm not convinced on which one it is, nor could I write my own reasons for her to be very convincing, so right now she is considered dead as far as my stories go. Which is sad, because I really wanted to write her, but the story comes first! Always. Also, while that is certainly an interesting idea for a twist, I don't think it would be very believable. Beth was kidnapped in Georgia, and the group is currently in the Washington D.C. area. I doubt the kidnapper would just happen to travel several states away to kidnap a girl. Could be wrong though! We'll find out in Season 5!**

**Again, guys, sorry for the long wait, but I hope this chapter was worth it!**

**Until the next one!**

**Later!**


	8. For Him

I'm a prisoner again.

It has been many years since the last time. Since those dreadful, terrifying moments in Terminus where I was almost certain I'd be killed and eaten by a group of sadistic cannibals. Looking back on it, though, that situation was a cakewalk compared to this one. Negan and his men, along with me of course, arrive at the Savior's headquarters by dusk. The sight before me, as we approach it, resembles something out of a classic horror movie setting. The Saviors' home, as it turns out, is a large abandoned factory located off of one of the many side roads weaving in and out of the hilly country just beyond Washington D.C. The factory itself isn't anything worth noting. Aside from the fact that it is seemingly falling apart due to lack of proper care, it looks like every other factory I've seen in my life, specifically an abandoned one I remember being located in my hometown years ago. Instead, it is what is _around_ the factory that draws not only my attention, but my absolute horror.

A herd.

Literally hundreds of undead surround the chain-link fences outside of the factory grounds. Though each of the walkers are still very much "alive", their combined vocals are causing an eerie droning sound to fill the darkening skies, they are held in place by a variety of wooden pikes buried into the ground, piercing their rotting corpses in order to keep them from walking away or becoming a threat to the people living inside. I recall years ago, while still on our trek with Abraham towards Washington, the city of walkers we passed through. During that particular event, Michonne and I had used an old tactic of hers, using harmless walkers as a deterrent to the herd we encountered. I realize then that the Saviors must be trying to accomplish the same thing. Not only do they deter living humans that would want to do them harm, they also prevent herds from overrunning their home by using the walkers outside as a repellent. Its genius in a very sick and twisted manner.

"Ah, home sweet home!" Negan sneers from the front seat as the convoy comes to a halt just inside the gates, passed the sea of walkers. "C'mon, hotshot. I'll give ya the grand motherfuckin' tour."

I don't respond.

I'm not in the least bit amused.

Surprisingly enough, Negan doesn't have me restrained after extracting me from the back of his vehicle. I figure this is just because it is pretty much futile for me to run and he realizes this. Aside from being vastly outnumbered by the other Saviors, the practical ocean of walkers outside the fences didn't bode well for me. Though I resent it, I have no choice but to follow the wicked gang leader and his followers through the factory yard, up a flight of eroding concrete steps, and into the proverbial lion's den. The factory lacks electricity. Not that this matters much. There are tremendously large windows lining the upper portion of the main factory work floor, allowing moonlight from outside to filter through and illuminate the room well enough for myself and others to see. That said, I finally get a good look at the place Negan has been calling home.

Most of the machinery and workbenches that would normally be present in a modern factory have been stripped from this one, replaced by picnic benches, mattresses, and other means of living for the inhabitants here. Other than that, however, the factory remains mostly unchanged. There is a strong scent of rust permeating the air, and, unfortunately, the overwhelming smell of the decaying walkers outside is also drifting in through the building. The combination of the two rancid odors is causing my stomach to knot and churn. This place truly reeks of death. How anyone could live here comfortably is completely beyond my comprehension.

"Pretty nice goddamn set up, ain't it?" Negan inquires of me, enthusiastically gesturing towards his abode. "My Sanctuary."

I'm not impressed.

For my own good, though, I keep my mouth shut. Its bad enough that I'm here. No need to incite Negan's rage by answering him with my real thoughts.

"Not much of a talker, are we?" he jeers at me.

I merely glare at him.

"Well that's just motherfuckin' fine." he goes on. "Because I'm gonna talk to you anyways. Like I said, this is nothin' personal, but your pops has got to learn his fuckin' lesson."

Ah, so the facade is still in place.

I wonder how long I can keep Negan convinced that I'm really Rick's son. As long as he keeps me alive, I have to keep playing that role. The second he suspects otherwise, I'm history, and Carl will be in major danger.

Carl.

The sudden memory of my love, even though it has only been a few mere hours since we last saw one another, causes my chest to throb with a deep pain. His horrified expression when I acted as a scapegoat for him is still burned into my memory. I simply can't shake it. I hate myself for stressing him like this. For putting him in such a tumultuous stage of emotions. But it was simply the only way I saw him making it out of this alive. I won't let him be killed, no matter the cost. I just wish there had been a way to do it without hurting him so much. I wonder to myself what he's thinking right now. Is he scared? Enraged? Grieved? A mixture of the three? To think that he is going through any of those makes me unconsciously clench my fist and grit my teeth. I can only pray now. Pray that Carl remains safe, and yes, a small part of me prays that someone will stop Negan before he does the inevitable and kills me.

I want to see Carl again.

"Don't get too fuckin' angry yet, kid." Negan snaps, noting my change in demeanor. "The fun is only just gettin' started."

Before he can elaborate on his no doubt sadistic plans for me, he is cut off by the arrival of some very surprising guests. Well, surprising for me at least. Five women emerge from one of the doors on the far end of the upper catwalk above the room. Unlike the rest of the Saviors, who appear to be very much the typical ruffians in appearance, these women look very normal, if not just a tad bit timid. Though, who could really blame them? Look at who runs the place. Negan, on the other hand, seems fairly pleased to see all of them, opening his arms to them as if inviting them all to some sort of group hug from Hell.

"Beautiful aren't they?" Negan muses to me, still facing the women above us. "Though, since I have to deal what to do with your stupid ass tonight, I probably won't get around to fuckin' even one of my wives."

My stomach twists.

Just what kind of man is he?

He fits the definition of every cult leader I've ever heard of, before shit hit the fan, right down to the polygamy and yet, at the same time, he also breaks all of those rules. Negan isn't your average psychopath and that's why I find him to be such an unsettling person to be around. Well, you know, besides the fact that he caries a bat wrapped in barbed wire around with him. A flame ignites in the pit of my stomach. One of anger and outrage. He and I clearly have different views on marriage. I'd never talk about Carl in such a vulgar manner. Especially in front of others. From that alone, I know that he doesn't truly love them. Of course he doesn't.

He's just a pig.

A pig that needs to fry.

"But enough of my love life." Negan must really like hearing himself talk, because he continues on. "You're a little too fuckin' feisty for my tastes. See I need to fuckin' break you. If I break you, I break Rick. As much as I truly hate it, you have to bear his punishment. Tonight, you're gonna be our entertainment, asshole."

I wince.

That doesn't sound good.

Sick bastards like him can find a lot of ways to be "entertained". I wonder, as sickness grows in the pit of my stomach, which method he has chosen to indulge me in.

Negan leads me into a room nearly as large as the factory work floor. Like the aforementioned room, the top portion of this room allowed for moonlight to illuminate the darkness, as well as having catwalks wind across the upper levels. More unsettling, however, was the sight of two seemingly bloodstained doors across the room from me. I do not like the vibes those are giving me. Negan quite audibly commands to me to stay put on the lower floor as he and his goons ascend the steps towards the upper catwalks. Well, all accept for one of his goons. I recognize this one from the night of Tyreese's death. A thin man with scruffy facial hair, and little head hair to speak of, but his defining trait was easily the portion of his face that had seemingly been severely burned. Just looking at the injury made me wince in pain. This particular thug cross the room towards the two doors I mentioned, only increasing my anxiety regarding them.

"Me and my boys haven't had a moment to fuckin' relax since your group started fuckin' with things around here." Negan's voice booms from above. "Don't mind us if we get a little goddamn rowdy. We really enjoy these events, ya see?"

Events?

I get my answer almost immediately.

The scarred man yanks open one of the doors he'd come close to and what pours out causes the blood in my veins to freeze. Walkers. Many more than I can count. The thug makes a run for it, clearing the walkers before any of them can grab him, then climbing onto one of the nearby catwalks to join Negan. Its clear to me he's done that before. Anyone else would've been caught and eaten. I don't have time to consider his feats, though. The oncoming cluster of walkers are heading straight towards me. Negan had taken my weapon earlier in Alexandria. I am completely defenseless against them. Well, defenseless in the sense that I am unarmed. However, as it always does, experience kicks in. I've survived this entire apocalypse, minus the last three years, on the road. Part of it by myself and part of it in a group. I know how to deal with walkers, even when unarmed.

The problem is, I'd never dealt with this many at once unarmed.

I'm not about to give up, though.

My body responds to this new threat by immediately switching to fight-or-flight mode. My heart races even as my breathing quickens, a sudden burst of energy filling up every cell in my body. Mind racing for a quick solution as the snarling corpses close in on me, my head swivels in an attempt to search for anything that can possibly assist me. An initial sweep of the room reveals nothing that I can use to aid me, but I am unable to search a second time, because the oncoming horde is finally upon me. My legs begin moving before my thoughts have time to catch up with them. Running is useless, though, as the room is closed off, and I can only run so far before being cornered. Above me, Negan and his goons yell and whoop with pleasure. This is clearly very entertaining to them. Not so much for me. One corpse gets too close, skeletal arms reaching out to seize me, but my reflexes are sharp as ever. Aiming a kick for the monster's rotting chest, my shoe-clad foot catches the cadaver right between its pectoral muscles, sending it reeling back into the crowd of walkers, where it manages to knock over several of its fellow corpses in the process.

The distraction affords me a moment to slip away. And that's when I see it. I hadn't noticed it before because the horde of walkers had obstructed my view. Against the far factory wall sits a rusted pile of steel pipes, likely a fixture of the original factory that the Saviors never saw the need to remove. Each pipe, illuminated by the light of the moon pouring in above them, looks to be about the length of my sword, though they probably weigh a bit more. I break out into a sprint, pushing all of my energy into my legs to propel me forward. Behind me, the walkers continue to pursue, gnashing their rotting teeth with ravenous hunger. My body is moving so fast, I very nearly trip over my own feet as I screech to a halt in front of the pile of pipes. Overhead, several of my spectators boo their disapproval, though Negan doesn't seem the slightest bit concerned at my findings. I seize one of the poles and haul it into my grip.

Like I had suspected, the pole is slightly heavier than my sword, but it isn't anything that will hinder me.

One cue, the first of the dead things reach my position and makes a lunge for my neck. A sickening crunch ensues as I crack the metal pipe against the nearest corpse's skull. My stomach twists as the revolting sight of brain matter and and blood spraying from the wound, even as the walker drops dead, unfolds before me. By this time, fatigue is beginning to crawl into my bones. My body has been in overdrive in a ferocious attempt to help me escape death, but the human body, no matter how amazing, has its limitations, and mine is slowly reaching its own. Gritting my teeth and tightening my grip on my new weapon, however, I push on, dropping another corpse with a heavy swing. The third walker I strike is so fragile, at this point in its decay, that I manage to completely bifurcate it, spilling blood, gore, and intestinal matter onto the smooth concrete floor. With each successive walker that I kill or incapacitate, the whoops and boos from above get louder and louder.

Its almost as though Negan and his men are at some sort of NFL sporting event.

It only serves to intensify my anger.

Exhaustion now grips me powerful, sweat dripping down my face and onto the soiled floor. The horde is thinning but I still have several more to kill and my strength is fast fading. For a split second, I entertain the thought that I could actually die from this. In my mind, I can see it happen; my strength falter, guard dropping in the process, the bite, me turning; probably ending up one of the Saviors' sadistic gate guardians. The snarl of the remaining walkers fills my head cavity as my mind travels to Carl. Carl, who would be unaware of my fate, hoping in vain that he could rescue me, only to find me dead and one of the monsters that feeds on the living.

_I can't let that happen._

I can vividly imagine his face. Actually see his heart breaking.

_I won't let that happen._

My own heart throbs.

Carl whom I love.

Carl whom I have done everything to protect. The only person in this world I would give up everything I own and love, and then some to make happy and to keep safe. They say love changes a person. I am living proof of that. Originally a loner who wanted nothing to do with love or relationships beyond casual friendships, someone who didn't believe that there was anything else waiting for me in this life other than loneliness and misery, somehow, whether it be by Fate or pure luck, stumbled across Carl in some godforsaken Georgian neighborhood and now I can't seem to even spend a day away from him without missing him to the point of nearly being driven insane. Carl is one of the few people I would never want to hurt and the thought of dying, knowing how much pain he'd be in, is too much for me to bear.

_Carl..._

I can't allow myself to die.

_Carl...!_

I **won't** allow myself to die.

_I...!_

They're closing in.

I can smell their rotting flesh. See their skeletal silhouettes lurching out of the shadows towards me for the kill.

_I... won't..!_

"I WON'T DIE!"

The roar that escapes my lips, the back of my throat, echoes throughout the chamber, silencing the Saviors watching me from above. Anger has replaces fatigue and hatred has replaced my draining reserves of stamina. Heat slowly creeps through my veins, causing my skin to flush, my heart to race even faster, and my eyes to narrow. Again I raise the bloodied bar of metal to do combat with the undead. Only this time, my attacks lack grace. They lack precision. My body explodes into action, slamming the metal pipe down as hard as it's strength will allow it into the first cadaver's skull. I don't even wait to see it drop dead to move to the second. My next swing not only obliterates the walker's head, but takes it clean off of its decaying shoulders at the same time, resulting in a gory explosion of blood and brain matter. Another walker falls and then another. When I at last come to the final corpse, I unleash what remains of my fury upon it; knocking the monster down before repeatedly slamming the metal pipe into its head until there was nothing recognizable left of it.

I can feel the results, though I can't see myself.

I'm drenched in blood.

Not that of my own, but that of the endless walkers I have just finished slaughtering. The warm, sticky fluid drips off of me like sweat and tears, but I'm able to ignore it. My rage abated, fatigue once again rushes in to seize its place. Exhaustion hits me like a brick wall and I unconsciously release the metal pole in my hand, letting it clatter loudly to the floor below. My legs soon grow weary of standing, quivering under the demand they carry, and soon I buckle as a result; landing in a pool of walker blood, which only causes more of the decayed ooze to splash up onto my face. At least here on the floor I can take a moment to catch my breath.

Suddenly, however, above me, the sound of clapping resounds in the room.

"Bravo!" Negan's voice echos out. "Bra-fucking-vo! I have to hand it to ya, you're pretty goddamn impressive. I totally expected you to die within the first couple of minutes!"

Amazing.

Just the sound of his voice entices the sleeping rage within me back to the surface, only this time, it comes with slight confidence.

"Go to hell." I hiss angrily.

God, that felt good.

Negan chuckles darkly, "Seems you grew a fuckin' pair as well." he jeers. "Alright boys, I think he's had enough for one fuckin' night. Lock him the fuck up. We'll have some more fun with him in the mornin'."

####

"Kid."

A voice.

"Hey, kid."

On the outside.

"Wake the fuck up."

My eyes are heavy, extraordinarily so, and yet I somehow manage to open them. The room I'm in is small. Only a fraction of moonlight filters in from one of the nearby windows. Truth be told, I don't even remember getting put in here. The last thing I remember, before fatigue took me, was Negan instructing his men to lock me up. I suppose they followed his orders. My vision drifts over to the source of the voice that beckoned me out of my slumber only moments before. Squinting in the darkness to bring the subject into view, I clearly see the source... and remember him. Its the man with the facial scars. One of Negan's top henchman. Not exactly the person I wanted to wake up to. The moonlight casts an eerie glow against his charred and scarred skin. Upon getting a good look at his face, I realize he doesn't seem too pleased to be here with me either.

"What do you want?" I manage to grumble despite my exhaustion.

"Finally awake?" he replies, dodging my question. "Took you long enough."

Irritation is all I can feel at this point.

Exhausted and heart throbbing from the distinct lack of Carl by my side, the least these monsters can let me do is sleep. Seems that isn't going to happen though. This man seems very intent on holding a conversation with me. Otherwise, why bother to wake me up?

"Who are you?" I press.

"Dwight." the man snaps pointedly. At this point, he seems to notice my extreme irritation. "Relax." he chides me. "I'm not here to torment you."

"And what do you call _this_?" I indicate to my walled prison. The filter that prevents me from smarting off to people, who technically can kill me at any point, has vanished by this point.

"It is what it is." he replies cryptically.

I have to admit, I'm curious.

If he didn't come to torment me, then what else could he possibly want from me?

"I'll ask you again." I say. "What do you want?"

"To learn more about you." Dwight is rather direct. "Can't lie, you fuckin' interest me. That a problem?"

I don't reply.

At least, not immediately.

"What about me could possibly interest you?"

"I was about to tell you if you'd quite fuckin' mouthin' off." Dwight snaps. "None of Negan's prisoners have ever done what you did."

I shoot him an inquisitive glance.

What is he on about? The walkers? I find it hard to believe that anyone who knows how to kill walkers would fail to at least try to fend them off. Nevertheless, I keep my sight trained on him, now interested in what he has to say.

"You fought back." he continues. "Not the biters. I'm talkin' about when you smarted off to him at the end. None of the other prisoners have ever done that. Negan scares them shitless. They think if they just appease him, Negan will let them go in due time." He glares at me. "I think you know differently."

Not particularly.

I was coming off of a sympathetic nervous system response, was morbidly exhausted, and had just escaped death. The combination of the three gave me no regard for Negan's status or capabilities. Of course, my hatred of the man also likely fueled it. Still, I can agree with Dwight's reasoning. Negan isn't the type to let others go if they appease him. He has made it very clear to me today that he enjoys torturing his prey before killing them. This is all simply a waiting game now. Once Negan finds something or someone more amusing than me, he'll kill me. I know that much.

"There's more." Dwight goes on. "I was there when they took you. There when they killed that black guy. Friend of yours, I'm guessin? I know your secret. You're not that Rick guy's son."

My heart stops.

Wha-... How?!

How does he know that?!

I grit my teeth unconsciously, giving me away.

"Relax." he is quick to cut me off. "I'm not gonna tell Negan."

"How did you know?!" I hiss angrily.

Dwight regards me with the closest thing to sympathy I've seen since arriving here.

"I'm gonna tell you a little story." he says. "When shit hit the fan, my wife Sherry and I were livin' in D.C. We made it out before the napalm bombings started and sought refuge in the hills. After that, we survived. I don't know how we did it, but we did. It always came down to food, though, and we could never find enough. That's when Negan found us. Took us in. Sheltered us. Fed us. I fell in with his men, started helpin' out. That's when things took a turn for the worst. Negan demanded that all women in the group be his. In exchange, he wouldn't kill them, and we men would be allowed to stay. I couldn't let Sherry die for somethin' like that. She agreed. We underestimated just how much we'd miss each other, though, and ended up gettin' caught doin' the dirty one day. See these scars on my face? That's what Negan does to those who break his rule."

I wince.

God only knows what Negan did to him to cause that result.

"She's still alive, you know?" Dwight inquires, suddenly seeming distant and thoughtful. "Those women you saw today? She was one of them. Everytime I see her she gives me this look. A look of concern, of sadness, longing, and sorrow. At the same time, though, its a look of love." He glances up and looks me full in the eyes now. "That's how I knew you weren't Rick's kid. That other guy, in the sheriff's hat. He's the one. I saw the look he gave you. It was obvious to me. Same look my wife gives me."

Guilty as charged.

I have to hand it to Dwight, he is pretty observant.

"Why are you telling me this?" I finally manage to speak, genuinely curious.

"You ask too many questions." Dwight chides me. "Tell me. Does he set your heart on fire when you see him? Do you long for his touch even now, after being dragged away for his sake? Are you willing to die here for him?"

His questions strike home.

Is he intentionally taunting me?

Bringing Carl into the mix of a situation like this is not a good way to get on my good side. Though, if I'm honest, he isn't asking me anything I haven't already asked myself a million times already. Of course, the answer to each question is grafted into my soul, but that never keeps me from asking them again and again.

"When I'm with him," I begin, purposely excluding Carl's name, just in case Dwight is baiting me. "My concerns and worries, even in this modern hellhole, evaporate. Just the thought of him ignites the inferno lying only for him within my chest. I miss him, even though we haven't even been apart a full day yet, and even though I know Negan wants me dead. I can't help it. I need to be with him. Its just how I'm wired. That said, I'd be dragged away for him a million times over if it means he's safe. I'm willing to die for him. I'd do it this very moment if it was required of me."

I pause.

A smirk touches my cheeks.

"But I'm not gonna die." I declare. "If I did, it'd hurt him, and I won't allow that. I'm going to get out of here. I don't know when and I don't know how, but even if I have to kill Negan and burn this place to cinders, I'll escape. For him."

Dwight observes me for a moment before chuckling aloud;

"I knew I was right about you." he says. "You're interestin'. No fuckin' question about that."

Unfolding his arms, the Savior slowly crosses the small confined space back to the door. I let him leave in silence. I've said what I need to say, even if it does get me killed later. Dwight stops short of leaving after pushing the door open, stopping suddenly as though a thought has struck him. He silently stuffs his hands into his pocket and holds his position for an instant before turning to face me slightly.

"If I were you." he says gravely. "I'd forget about escapin'."

Without a word more, he steps out of the room.

But he's wrong. I am going to escape, or die trying. No matter what. For Carl, I'll do anything. Now all that needs to happen is for me to figure out a plan. But what? I suppose I'll soon find out.

And with that thought firmly in mind, the door slams shut, and I am alone again.

* * *

**A/N: I hope you all found that a suitable follow up to the last chapter! I immensely enjoyed writing this one. Especially the last scene, for obvious reasons. New character introduced and he will play an important role coming up! Keep your eye on him! Is he a friend, an enemy, or someone in between? You'll find out in due time, I promise xD hahaha The next chapter will be entirely from Carl's point of view. Unlike the last story (This Cruel Reality), I haven't done any point of view changes, and that is purposeful, but next chapter you shall see everything from Carl's eyes and I promise you, you won't want to miss it! Hope you all enjoyed! Review, comment, follow, and favorite! I appreciate all the support I've received from you guys. Means a lot! :)**

**On to the reviews!**

**CindytheSlayer: Thank you! With the prequel story, I was asked the same question, and I answered no, since it was a romance between Carl and Tanner. However, for this story, I have not yet decided. Its about family, so it certainly could happen, but if it does, I want it to happen naturally. I don't want to force them to be a couple, even though I personally think they'd make a great one. So, to answer you more directly, if the story permits it, I will allow it to happen, but if not, I'll leave them as close friends. Michonne is my favorite character, with Carl in close second, so I think she deserves love, but the plot is most important. I want it all to make sense so that you guys will enjoy :) Thank you for you comment and question! It is much appreciated.**

**IamwhoIam987: Good! That is the reaction I wanted to induce! I'm SO glad you feel that way! :D Its only gonna keep getting better. Thank you for your comment!**

**Guest: "Poor everyone", that is a fair assessment of The Walking Dead in general xD hahahaha but yes, Tanner is stuck in quite a bind, isn't he? Only time will tell if he makes it out okay! Thank you for your comment!**

**Thank you all! **

**See you with the next chapter! **

**Later!**


	9. Into the Moonlight

**A/N: Just a reminder. This chapter is entirely from Carl's point of view. Enjoy! ^-^**

* * *

The night is still young.

Outside the house, crickets chirp, and the wind gently rolls over the vacant streets of Alexandria. The sky itself is freckled with brightly-shining stars. I can see this all from the window I'm standing at. I haven't left this window since arriving back home. Somewhere out in this darkness, Tanner is alone and no doubt frightened. My stomach lurches at the thought, as if bruised on the inside by some unseen force. It had been chaos after Negan left the community. Dad, Daryl, and the others immediately had to restore the gates and clear out any invading walkers from the outside in order to re-secure the town. Afterwards, I, of course, demanded we go after Tanner, but, as usual, Dad implored me to be patient and wait for a plan. Even set Abraham and Rosita up at the gate to prevent me from leaving should I try to storm out anyways. Ever since then, I've been giving the others the cold shoulder. That is until now. A waning moon now hangs like a hunter's horn overhead. The house is empty, as Dad had left with the others to decide on the best course of action, and that left me alone to my own planning.

I wasn't wasting a second.

Enough time has already gone by.

I hastily tie the knots in my boot laces, ensuring the sturdy shoes are tightly bound to my feet, before turning my attention to my arsenal. My gun is loaded. I never leave the house unless it is. Additionally, I have Tanner's sword with me, which he dropped when we were disarmed earlier in the day by Negan's Saviors. I've only held Tanner's sword once and that was years ago, shortly after we first met. Nevertheless, I've seen him with it enough times to know how to wear it. Once my gun is safely strapped away in its holster on my leg, I nimbly work to get the strap of Tanner's sword around my thin frame, allowing it to hang from my back. I also take with me an extra clip of ammo just in case I run out for any reason. With my gear in place and nothing left to wait for, I slip out the open window I was previously staring out of, and into the brisk Virginian night.

Winter is indeed upon us.

Outside in the night air, the biting cold licks my face and penetrates even my winter clothing. I'm used to this, though. Years ago, after Hershel's farm was overrun by walkers, we had been forced to survive on the road all winter. Cold is just another thing I've come to get used to after the fall of civilization and so I push the uneasy feeling of it outside of my mind and focus on my goal. Tanner. Cold, hardened grass crunches beneath my boots as I cross the yard and eventually step down onto the solid concrete of the street. Getting passed Abraham and Rosita wasn't going to be easy, but they aren't going to stop me. My mind won't stop replying the moment that Tanner was taken. My heart is engulfed with hatred for myself that I let him go like that. Negan was looking for _me_. He was looking for my Dad's kid, and though he didn't seem to know about Judith, he did seem to know about me. Tanner had taken advantage of the fact that Negan didn't have a face to associate with any of Dad's children, however, and was taken in my place. My chest throbs painfully at the thought. He'd taken my place so that I could live.

If he dies, I'll never forgive myself.

"Going somewhere?"

The sudden voice stops me dead in my tracks.

I hadn't even made it passed the church yet. The searing heat of anger touches my cheeks, replacing the sting of the frigid air. Someone has come to stop me from rescuing Tanner. _Someone_ is going to find out just how hard such a task is going to be. Spinning on my heel, I whirl around to catch a glimpse at the source of the offending voice. Who I see is not who I expected to see. In my single-mindedness, I hadn't noticed that the voice was feminine, and so seeing Tara Chambler standing in front of me surprises me to a degree.

"You can't stop me, Tara." I snap venomously, immediately go on the offense.

She folds her arms defiantly. Tara is one of Tanner's closest friends outside of myself and Michonne. The two bonded very closely after our near-death experience in Terminus years back and have been partners in crime ever since. I have to admit, I can see why Tanner gets along with her so well. Tara, though not a combat-oriented individual, is very headstrong and confident individual. Moreover, she is extraordinarily loyal to those close to her. Tanner seems to click nearly perfectly with anyone possessing those traits. That's why I can't understand why she's come all this way to stop me. It makes me furious. So furious, I can't even feel the cold on my skin any longer, due to the heat my skin is giving off. A heat that evaporates instantly when she clarifies her intentions;

"What makes you think I'm here to stop you?"

"I said you're no-..."

I'm so caught up in arguing with her, I nearly missed her question.

"You're not?" my voice betrays my surprise. "Then what are you doing out here following me?"

I study her, eyes narrowing sharply in the darkness as I do, waiting for her to explain herself further. In my haste to accuse her of hampering my attempts to save Tanner, I had missed one crucial detail. Tara was not as calm and collected as I initially believed her to be. My eyes adjusting to the darkness, and being aided by the light of the moon, allows me to clearly see the state of her distress. The pale skin around her eyes is swollen; the telltale sign that her eyes had recently been racked by tears. After seeing this, I feel my tense expression gradually soften. It looks as though I am not the only one worried for Tanner's safety.

"Why do you think?" she retorts, trying to sound tough. "You're not the only one worried sick, Carl."

The inflection in her voice stings slightly.

I glance down at my feet, slightly ashamed, "Sorry." I mutter.

"You know I can't let you go alone, right?" she suddenly speaks up.

My own head snaps up, fire returning to my cheeks.

"And why not?" I hiss.

Despite her obvious turmoil, Tara attempts to retain her defiance, folding her arms tightly against her chest to give the illusion of someone standing their ground.

"Because Tanner would kill me if he found out I let you go running around the walker-infested countryside alone at night to look for him, and stayed here where it was safe." she replies pointedly. "Besides, I learned the same stuff from Denise that Tanner did. You'll need a medic if he's hurt."

"What are you saying?" I inquire, eyes narrowing again.

This time Tara huffs exasperatedly, "Do I need to spell it out for you?" her voice is raised and almost annoyed. "If you're going outside the gates, you're taking me with you."

"But what about Dad?" I argue. "He'll be pissed at you for doing this."

Tara's defiance shatters, appearing quite visibly shocked by my declaration. For a moment, her eyes, both pools of luminescence reflecting the moon's eerie glow, search my own. She struggles with her expression for a moment before settling on a soft, yet firm, glare. Her arms, which had been tight against her chest, unfold and each of her hands finds a hip as she continues to look me over.

"Is that what you think?" she inquires after moments of silence. "Carl, your dad is concerned too. The only reason he kept you here is to keep you from losing your head and getting yourself killed. If you die, that won't help Tanner at all. Not in the slightest."

"She's right."

A new voice comes from out of nowhere, startling me enough to make me jump.

I spin around just in time to see Michonne emerging from across the street, having overheard our conversation, and approaching us. She's not alone either. With her are Glenn, Maggie, Daryl, Sasha, and, to my great surprise, Dad and Jesus. In all the confusion and emotion of the day, I had nearly forgotten that Jesus hadn't returned home to Hilltop after the attack, but had rather stayed to help out the community. Even so, seeing them causes the tension in my heart to continue its ascent. What are they here for? To tell me that its futile? That there is no hope? That they won't organize a search? None of these seem like rational things anyone in this group would actually say, but anxiety can convince you of some crazy thoughts. Especially when its anxiety about the person you love the most. Dad continues forward as the rest of the group stops behind him, laying a fatherly hand on my shoulder. Even though I'm nineteen years old, whenever Dad approaches me in this manner, puts his hand on my shoulder, and gives me this serious look, I suddenly feel twelve again.

"I'm sorry I made you wait." his voice is rough, deep, and yet strangely soothing. "Believe it or not, I know what its like to have a spouse missing and not know if they're alright or even alive."

Its true.

I sometimes forget that.

When this whole thing began, Dad didn't know if Mom and I had been killed, abducted, or turned into walkers. It took him days to find us outside of Atlanta. Only now do I understand what he felt like then.

"What's the plan?" Tara inquires of Dad from behind me.

"Jesus informed us that the Saviors have never given up where they're callin' home." my father replies. "Luckily for us, Daryl can track. With any luck, he can lead us right to their doorstep, and to Tanner."

I eye Jesus.

Up until now, I've been wary of trusting Jesus. He seems to be a decent person, but a lot of decent-seeming people have turned out to be murderous psychopaths since the world went to shit. I'm not taking any chances.

"You're coming too?" I ask him.

Jesus studies me for a moment, smiles softly, and then nods;

"Its my fault you guys are even in this mess to begin with." he explains. "If I'd been more careful about our two communities' deal, your friend Tyreese wouldn't be dead and your mate wouldn't be missing. I owe it to you to help you find him and find him alive."

That means something to me.

Its one thing to want to help the community. Its one thing to want to help our group. But to help me find Tanner? Help me find him alive? If Jesus really comes through on that, he will have for sure sealed my trust. And that isn't something I give out very lightly these days. A sudden, frigid gust of air sweeps across the streets and I instinctively look up towards the direction it came from. Dark clouds are approaching from the east, devouring the star-speckled sky like a ravenously hungry ghoul. A storm is moving in. Not a good thing, considering we're about to head out as a search-and-rescue team.

"We better get movin'." Daryl suggests, having noticed my line of sight. "Otherwise that storm'll cause some problems."

We all agree...

...and then we're off.

####

The woods always appear differently in the darkness of night.

Everything around me has an unfamiliar slant to it, almost as if the absence of the life-giving rays of the sun have turned the normally vibrant floral life around me into a more twisted and haunted version of itself. Ahead, Daryl, Dad, and Jesus lead our group along the edge of the woods, which happens to also touch the edge of the road. Dad had decided to keep us here, using the trees for cover in case any unwanted attention decided to roam the roads late at night; namely the Saviors themselves. Every now and then a wayward walker or two will stumble into our path, leaving Michonne or Glenn to quickly dispatch of it. I have scarcely taken my eyes off of Daryl. Of our group, he is the only one who can discern the path those bastards took Tanner in, and so I am very meticulously awaiting his signal that we are close.

Overhead, the stars formerly shinning in the heavens are now nearly non-existent. Clouds black as soot have completely taken their place and now wrestle with the moon for dominance over the sky itself. In the distance I can hear the faint rumble of thunder. It won't be long now and we'll have a full blown thunderstorm to worry about as well. Daryl continues to lead us in silence, the crunching of twigs and leaves underfoot being the only noteworthy noise for a good several hours. For once, I wish someone _would_ speak. Only my thoughts can fill the void of silence between us at the moment, and my thoughts are none too kind.

It was the same way when mom died.

All I could ever do, back then, was torment myself on just how horrible of a son I'd been to her. Always running off, talking back to her, and even, at times, hating her for keeping me so close, when all she ever tried to do was keep me safe. I regret that. And now, with Tanner, its happening all over again. While I haven't been horrible to Tanner in the same way, I hate myself for letting him take my place. I tried to speak up, but was silenced by Negan. I should've tried again and again until Negan learned the truth, sparing Tanner's life. Now I don't know what's happened to him. He could be being tortured, he could be dead, or... something worse. I briefly recall the days spent in the church after Terminus. Even though it has been three years, I can still remember the dream I had after Tanner had been shot. Tanner turned into a walker, killing everyone else, eating them; me unable to put him down.

I shiver at the thought.

The thought that, this time, that could be a reality.

I glance in the direction of Michonne. So far, she hasn't said anything, nor expressed the type of emotion that Tara and I have. But I know its there. Michonne is good at hiding her feelings; at giving the facade of complete calm, even when she's anything but calm. The fact of the matter is that, during our time on the road, she and Tanner became almost like siblings. That makes me wonder what she's thinking. What she's feeling. My thoughts are suddenly disturbed, however, by a hand on my shoulder. I expect Tara, maybe Dad, but instead I'm surprised to see Maggie casting a concerned look at me.

"If its any consolation," she says to me softly. "I know what you're going through."

She does.

Of course she does.

Its easy to forget that she and Glenn were separated after the prison fell to the Governor. I didn't realize, back then, just how much anxiety the two of them must've gone through until they were reunited with one another. Even so, its not consolation. Nothing short of seeing Tanner alive and safe will heal the growing void in my chest.

"It isn't." I reply truthfully. "But thanks."

"You know he's going to be alright, don't you?" Maggie continues trying to cheer me up. "Tanner's tough."

"I was there on the road when Tyreese was killed." I reply cryptically. Out of the corner of my eyes, I see Sasha tense up, but I pay her no heed. "I couldn't watch it. Tanner shielded me, but because he did that, he saw everything. Yeah, I know he's tough."

"Then-"

"But I also saw the aftermath." I cut her off to continue. "I saw what was left of him when Negan was finished." Now I turn to look her full in the eyes. "So, no, I don't know if he's going to be alright or not."

That silences her.

Maggie means well, but I think she can still recall what the Governor did to her father. I certainly can. My mind will never be able to erase the images of the innocent, wise old farmer, Hershel, kneeling before his executioner as the one-eyed Governor decapitates him with Michonne's own sword. She knows just how unpredictable and dangerous people like him can be, even to people like Hershel, who are unbelievably strong in their own rights. Daryl ends our conversation by whistling. We break formation and huddle up beside where he is kneeling.

"What is it?" I vocalize, concern again touching my voice.

"They turned here." the redneck indicates to a heavily wooded side road just off of the main roadway. A pair of tire tread marks are clearly burned into the road, indicating the turn Daryl speaks of.

"Keep your guards up." Dad cautions. "We'll follow the road like we've been - from just inside the trees. Keep your eyes peeled at all times. We don't know what we'll find in there."

I nod.

Everyone else does the same.

And we advance.

####

Thunder cracks the air as though the very heavens are splitting apart.

We've made progress. The terrain has very quickly become more jagged and sloped as we make our way through the trees alongside the side road. Weather conditions are only worsening by the minute. A tremendous wind gusts in from behind us, scattering the dead leaves at our feet even as those still attached to their branches are violently torn away. We've picked up our pace to accommodate for this. It won't be too much longer now. Only moments ago, we saw what looked like an old building rising up through some of the gaps in the treeline. After only a few more moments of walking among the trees, Daryl comes to an abrupt halt, throwing up his hand to signal for us to do the same. Now on high alert, I intentionally grip the handle of my gun; ready to draw and fire at a moment's notice. The redneck cautions us forward several feet to the edge of the woods. As if on cue, the ever-defiant moon shatters the stormy clouds above and casts its ghostly luminescence upon the earth in front of us.

Then I see it.

...Rather, I _hear _it.

In the obstructed moonlight, the hundreds of lurching forms appear as merely a tremendous mass of darkness. A single shadow with the most twisted of origins. It is the sound they give off, though, that confirms to me what I'm seeing. Walkers. Literally hundreds of them. My first instinct is to draw my gun and start shooting. That's been our usual response to the sight of a herd. Dad, however, is quick to strike out with his hand, blocking me from reaching my gun in its holster. I glance up to shoot him an inquisitive look, but am distracted by his and Daryl's completely lack of urgency. Upon second inspection, the walkers don't seem to be advancing on our position. Rather, and quite horrifically, they are being held in one place. Just beyond them is the shadowy outline of a chain-length fence. Behind even that is the rising form of a seemingly-abandoned factory.

"My God..." Jesus breathes silently. "They're using the walkers as a defense!"

"Is..." I mutter, equally as surprised. "Is that where they've taken Tanner?"

Daryl regards me, facial expression obscured by the darkness, as the clouds once more overtake the moon's light. He then motions towards the left of where we'd been looking, so I adjust my vision to the indicated location. My fears are confirmed, as I catch sight of the vehicles we'd seen outside of Alexandria parked behind the chain-link fence. This is it. Negan's home. The Savior's base. It is a fitting and horrific site for the murderous gang. My thoughts immediately dart for Tanner. Tough though he may be, he must've been terrified upon seeing this place. If he's alive, I can imagine the inside is only that much more horrific. Just the thought of Tanner scared for his life, possibly dead, brings the all-too-familiar heat of anger back to the surface of my cheeks. I swear on my life that each and everyone of them will pay for every single finger they've laid on Tanner. I will see to that personally.

"How do we even get in there?" Glenn voices. "Its too dangerous at night."

"Night is our only option." Michonne quickly points out. "We lose the element of surprise otherwise."

"She's right." Dad chimes in. "We just need to find a way passed these walkers. They have a way in, after all, we just need to find it."

"One that's probably heavily guarded." Sasha argues.

"No. I don't think so." I'm surprised Daryl has joined in on this. He rarely gets involved in the group's disagreements. "They've put this much effort into guardin' the place with walkers. Ain't no way they're worried about guardin' the entrance with people."

"Even if that's true," Glenn continues. "Searching for an entrance is dangerous enough. We'll get bit or raise the alert before we even find it."

A heavy silence falls on us.

The disagreement has brought an impasse and even Dad seems unwilling to assert himself. Well, if he won't, I will.

"I'm going to find it." I declare boldly.

"Carl..." Maggie speaks up, her voice firm but concerned.

"No!" I snap, trying to keep my voice low at the same time. "If it were Glenn, you'd do the same. I came here to save Tanner. If he's alive, he's in there. I have to try. No matter what."

"If he's going in, I am too." Tara supports me. I knew I could count on her to have my back when it comes to Tanner's well-being. "I came with you, Glenn, when Maggie was missing and you didn't know if she was dead or alive. I'll do the same here."

"I am too."

Michonne's voice startles all of us.

Michonne, ever the rational one in our group, usually sides with whatever solution gets the best possible result with the least danger. But this time, the danger level far exceeds the chances at a solution. That's why her volunteering to join Tara and I surprises even me, though not for long. Like I mentioned earlier, I can see underneath her facade of collected calmness. Her worry for Tanner has exceeded that which she can take, and so she's taking matters into her own hands. With Michonne on board, the others are almost instantly swayed, even if begrudgingly so. So, with that, its settled. We're going in. All that is needed now is a plan to do so.

A twig snaps behind me, sending all the hairs along the back of my neck on high alert.

"And just what might we be doin'?" an alien voice inquires from the same direction.

My group is a blur of action.

Michonne's sword comes out of her scabbard as everyone else brings their guns to bear against the unknown individual. Upon getting my first glimpse of him, I recognize him immediately. Glenn's reaction says he does too. The man is thin, wearing a charcoal-colored biker jacket, a pair of torn jeans, and has a distinctive facial trait; half of his face has been horribly burned, leaving very distinctive scaring in its place. This man is a member of the Saviors, having been on the road the night Tyreese was murdered.

"Who the hell are you?" Dad snarls, steadily pointing his Colt Python directly for the man's head.

In an act of brave defiance, the man completely ignores Dad and rather turns his attention to me.

"You..." he breathes, almost awed. "So, you came after all."

My eyes narrow.

What is he going on about?

Sure, he recognizes me, but what does he mean by 'you came after all'? Does he know me?

"You talk to me!" Dad demands of the Savior. "Leave him out of this."

"Oh, but I think he's rather important, wouldn't ya say, Rick?" the Savior replies defiantly. Its no surprise he recognizes Dad. Not after Negan's stunt earlier. But his interest in me piques my curiosity. "After all, that's your son, isn't it?"

_Now_, I can be shocked.

How could he possibly know that? Tanner had posed as Dad's son when he was taken. Did Negan know it was a lie all along? Or did they torture that bit of information from Tanner? My teeth grit angrily at the thought of that particular possibility. Dad's defensive irritation turns into full blown rage upon hearing that the Savior knows who I am, gesturing his gun towards the scared man in an even more suggestive manner.

"Oh yeah," the man grins slightly. "I know all about your switcheroo." he eyes me again. "Your friend is quite fond of you. All he seems to think about is gettin' out to be with you again."

My heart lurches.

Tanner is alive after all! But the more heartbreaking news is that he's trying to get out... for me. That's one thing about Tanner that both irritates me to no end and, yet, at times, completely takes my breath away. He seems completely incapable of acting in his own self-interest. Everything he's done over the past three years, since the two of us met, has been for my sake. When I first realized this, after we'd begun living in Alexandria, I'd implored him to start being more concerned for himself, as I worried he'd be unable to function if something happened to me. Now I realize that Tanner had never given up pursuing my best interests. Taking my place with Negan and then attempting to find a way to escape are only the latest examples of his self-sacrifice for my sake. Now, its my chance to get even. Now its my chance to do something for him. New found confidence broiling within me, I step out from the group, in front of even Dad, raising my weapon until it is mere centimeters from the man's forehead. To his credit, the Savior doesn't blink or flinch once.

"Where is he?" I demand.

"Don't worry, sheriff." the Savior cackles. "He's alive and well."

Wrong answer.

Without a second thought, I reach up and pull back the hammer of my weapon, loading at bullet into the chamber.

"Not what I asked you." I hiss.

This only seems to further amuse the man.

"You two really are a perfect match." he muses. "I can't tell if he rubbed off on you or vice versa, but... he had the same defiance."

"He asked you a question!" Michonne snaps, eyes wide with rage.

"Where do you think he is?" the Savior folds his arms. "Right there, in the building behind you."

The man indicates to the side of the building, where a large glass window is barely visible. That must be where they're holding him. Now, I shove the barrel of my gun into the man's scarred flesh, intending to let him know just how serious I am about this entire matter.

"Take me to him." I order him.

"No can do, buddy." the man replies. "The boss will fuckin' kill me if I do."

"And what do you think _I'm_ gonna do to you if you _don't_?"

That seems to genuinely startle him.

"You drive a hard bargain, kid." the man huffs, irritated. "Look, I can't take you in there. Unfortunately, threatenin' to kill me won't change my mind. The most I can do is tell you where to find him."

I study him closely.

For a Savior, this man is surprisingly witty and intelligent. He also seems to genuinely want to tell me where Tanner is. I hadn't expected that. I had expected an attempted capture or maybe him to start shooting at us. The fact that he is not is both unsettling and curious at the same time. So much so, that I decide to confront him on that matter.

"Why would you do that?"

The Savior's aloof behavior suddenly drops, becoming immensely serious in mere seconds, as if the question has struck his final nerve.

"Let's just say," the man begins. "You not the only ones who want to fuck Negan over."

* * *

**A/N: Carl and the crew have arrived at the Savior's headquarters, only to be met by Dwight, whom we met last chapter. But what does his cryptic final statement mean? And why does he seem to be going out of his way to speak to Negan's enemies? Only the next chapter will tell! The tenth chapter will see shit hit the fan like you've never seen before! I promise it'll be one that will have you reeling by the end of it! That said, like this chapter, the next one will be entirely in Carl's point of view. I hope this chapter was interesting and enjoyable! 'Twas an enjoyable chapter to right! That is for certain! Stay tuned for more exciting scenes! ^-^ Also, side note, but also TWD related: Congratulations to Melissa McBride (Carol) and Chandler Riggs (Carl) for winning their Saturn Awards! Both are extremely talented and deserved their awards very much. Also, this is rather late, as it is now the 28th where I'm at, but a Happy 15th Birthday to Chandler Riggs! An extraordinary actor, that one. I hope his special day was a good one and I look forward to seeing what talents he brings into the highly anticipated 5th season of The Walking Dead. It was also Alanna Materson's (Tara Chambler) birthday the same day, so Happy Birthday to her as well!**

**Now that that's out of the way, on to the reviews!**

**I am who I am 987: He is quite determined! That's one trait I really enjoy about Tanner. Huge sweetheart, he is. Which can be a curse in this walker-infested world, but he doesn't seem to mind it! :) Thank you for your comments and review! **

**Guest: THANK YOU! I was waiting for someone to chime in and tell me how I was doin' with ol' Negan. Makes me feel good I can give him some justice in his portrayal. Though the Governor is my favorite TWD villain, Negan is nearly equal with him, just because the guy is such a massive dick. Much more of him to come! ^-^**

**Also, shout out to Kayden Pause, who continues to support the story, offer me advice, and give me his honest opinions of the story whenever he can. It is much appreciated! That said, thank you all for your continued support, comments, reviews, and readership! It means a lot to me that you all enjoy these stories so much! Remember to leave your thoughts on this chapter! Don't be shy! I promise I don't bite! Lol xD**

**Slight side note, if you try to PM me and I don't respond immediately, its because I've been having some issues with the PM system lately. Probably connected to my crappy internet, but I'm working on a fix and will reply to you when I have.**

**Until the next one, folks.**

**Later!**


	10. No Way Out

**A/N: Another reminder that this chapter is entirely from Carl's point of view. This will change next chapter back to Tanner. Enjoy! ^-^**

* * *

"_Of all the wonders I have yet heard, it seems to me most strange that men should fear.  
Seeing that death, a necessary end, will come when it will come."_

— William Shakespeare

####

_You're not the only one who wants to fuck Negan over._

The Savior's words seem genuine.

Nevertheless, I keep the barrel of my gun firmly pointed to his temple. Trust isn't easy to come by these days, and I'm certainly not about to give mine to a man who was an accomplice in Tyreese's death as well as Tanner's kidnapping. Off to my side, Dad glances between myself, the Savior, and Daryl; I suppose to decide our next course of action. Overhead, the sky snarls like an aggressive guard dog as the storm gathering above us gains strength. Frigid gusts of wind, which sting my exposed skin, have become commonplace. For a moment, though it seems like hours, only the storm overhead and the nearby chained-up walkers generate noise. I can feel the very last remnants of my patience begin to thin out until Dad steps forward alongside me to address the Savior himself.

"What do you mean by that?" he inquires. "Why would you want to betray Negan?"

With that, my patience is gone.

"We don't have time for this." I snap impatiently. "Where is he?"

The Savior thug eyes Dad, then shifts his gaze to me. I can only describe his expression as a mixture of bewilderment and amusement. I don't think the thug had anticipated that I would give him this much hell, but that only continues to confirm that they don't know who the hell they messed with when they took one of our own. The man shifts his posture and folds his arms as he continues to glance at me observantly. The longer and longer he goes without granting me the information I'd asked for, the more and more irritated I become. Most people will answer quickly with a gun pressed tightly to their head, but this man almost seems to forget its even there, despite my many reminders. Finally, however, he relents and answers.

"Fine." he says. "Like I said, he's in there." The man gestures to the factory behind us. "First room is a large factory work floor. Directly to your far left is a second, smaller work chamber. In that room is a series of catwalks that lead up to a balcony which surrounds the upper levels of the room. Once you make it to the balcony, make a right and he's in the room behind the big red door. Can't miss it. The paint is peelin' off the motherfucker."

"What's the catch?"

Daryl amazes me.

Everytime he speaks, its calm and steady. His voice quiet, almost like a whisper. I've only heard Daryl Dixon raise his voice on a handful of occasions and most of those date back to the original Atlanta camp and Hershel's farm. The other thing about the redneck that always seems to inspire my awe, is his keen sense of awareness. He can detect a lie even when other acute people, such as Dad or Michonne, are fooled. He can also sense deception surprisingly well. My guess is that it originates from all the time he's spent following his older brother, Merle Dixon, a known deceiver himself, around prior to the outbreak.

"Is it always straight to the point with you people?" the Savior quips.

I answer by pushing my gun barrel even tighter to the man's scarred facial flesh.

"Answer him." I demand.

The mans sighs, "Well, for one." he begins. "There's them." He gestures towards the lurching mass of shadows in the distance, where the chained walker herd lies in wait of its next meal. "If you can get passed them, the next danger should be obvious. This place doesn't have bedrooms. Only Negan has his own room. My fellow Saviors simply sleep where they drop. If you wake even one of them, its all over."

"We'll take our chances." Michonne interjects, her voice carrying a venomous edge.

"Suit yourselves." the man replies with a casual shrug.

"Wait guys!" Glenn suddenly pleads. "We can't just barge in there without some sort of plan of action."

"He's right!" Maggie, of course, concurs in her thick Georgian accent. "Shoot first, ask questions later never works. We all know that."

"I'll take my chances." I snap at them, repeating Michonne's words. "Every second we waste, Tanner is in there going through God-knows-what. I'm _done_ waiting. Now is the time to _act._"

I am truly infuriated by their continued stalling.

Glenn and Maggie, of all people, should understand my urgency. They were both kidnapped by Merle and subjected to horrible torture at the hands of the Governor. Maggie had even had a loved one, her father Hershel, abducted by that man and killed right before her eyes. If anyone should understand just how much anxiety I'm experiencing, it should be her. Besides, there are very few plans that can help us once we get into the Savior's outpost. We don't know the layout, other than what the Savior has informed us about, if he is even telling the truth to begin with, and we don't know how many of them there are. Now is one of the rare instances when just doing what we came here for and then getting out is the only and best plan. The group individually considers me, then one another, clearly conflicted as to which course of action to take.

In front of me, the Savior shifts, crunching leaves and sticks beneath his boot-clad feet.

"Take it from me, kid." the man says gravely. "Listen to your friends."

####

A plan was formulated much quicker than I had originally anticipated.

I'll give them that.

It is also fairly simple. Glenn, Maggie, and Jesus would stay behind at the edge of the woods, holding our Savior captive, that way he couldn't raise the alarm if he decides to turn on us. While there, they would also cover us should we need to make a fast escape. Finding the gap in the walker herd, allowing us entry into the Savior's sanctuary, is also a simple task. Michonne and I quickly dispatch any of the chained-up undead that are too close to our pathway, allowing us safe passage until we're successfully behind the chain-link fences. Once there, I can finally see more of the Savior's headquarters at closer range. As it turns out, and as is usually the case, Daryl was right. The Saviors haven't stationed any outside lookouts or guards. As Daryl had suggested, they must've been counting on the walkers surrounding the place to ward off any potential attackers. Unfortunately for Negan, he didn't know who he was messing with. Our group, for as long as I can remember, has always been adamant about retrieving one of our own, at great personal risks. That isn't about to stop here.

Once behind the fences, another fail-safe of Dad's plan takes effect. Sasha and Daryl remain behind, ensuring that if we have to make a quick run for it, we can still use the element of surprise to take out a few of our pursuers before making our escape. Once we are sure she is safely in her position, Tara, Michonne, Dad, and I proceed cautiously into the interior of the factory. The front door to the facility creeks ever so slightly as we push it open and slip in one-by-one. The room we enter is large. Larger than any room I've ever seen. A factory work floor, as the Savior had called it. And, matching another of his warnings, we can already see the members of his gang sleeping somewhat peacefully all around us. Some have some form of bedding, such as a blanket, or even a towel. Others simply sleep on the cold floor.

Poor conditions indeed.

My group treads ever so carefully through the room, along the same pathway indicated by the Savior earlier. The smell within the factory is absolutely repulsive. The smell of rusting machinery mixed with decayed walker makes for a bad combination, even to someone like me, who is used to the smell of walkers after five years of being around them. Part of me wonders if Tanner is even able to sleep with this rancid odor permeating the air. I know I wouldn't be able to. Sure enough, however, we eventually arrive at a door leading into a smaller version of the room we were just in. Once safely inside, I turn to examine the room and my heart stops.

Corpses are everywhere.

To my relief, none of them are Tanners. In fact, they all appear to be walker corpses. Each of them have been brutally mutilated. It doesn't take me long to find the weapon that was used either. Laying near the center of the room, bathing in a pool of drying walker blood, is a long metal pipe which is dented from repeated concussive blows. The sight is truly gruesome. There is so much blood present that, in certain places, it is standing in puddles. Continued observation of the sight sends a cold chill up my spine and into my neck.

"Were they attacked?" Tara whispers, her look nearly as horrified as my own.

"Not likely." Dad's voice is saturated in rage, even as his words are cryptic.

I know what he means, though.

There are no signs of a breach. The Saviors are sleeping peacefully in the room next to this one. If that many walkers had truly breached this room, then common sense would say that Negan would post armed guards at the location of the breach and would've done more to fortify his safe haven. And yet, there is no signs of any of that having transpired. But if that's the case, then where did all of these walkers come from? The standing blood indicates the killing is fresh, but I can't see any victims. Michonne's soft voice suddenly cuts me from my thoughts.

"Where did he say Tanner was?" she mumbles under her breath.

"Up there." I nod to the catwalks above us. "One of the rooms up there."

"We all need to be careful as we go up." Dad warns. "Carl, you take the rear, and I'll take the front. Michonne and Tara in the middle. Stay in formation and watch for movement."

Our ascent up the rusting metal steps is slow and cautious. Each time our boots touch down on a metal step, it makes a slight _clank_, silent enough not to wake the thugs in the next room, but to me, they sound like gunshots. I don't want to risk exposing us before we rescue Tanner. The further up we get, the more I begin to internally brace myself. Though the Savior outside said he was alive, he could be lying, and I don't know what condition I'll really find Tanner in. The possibilities are endless and, after seeing the room full of dead walkers, I am dreading what I'll actually find. The climb to the top seems nearly endless, mainly because I'm at the back of our formation, but eventually I finally take my steps onto the balcony overlooking the room. I don't dwell on the sight below too long, however, before refocusing on the group. Dad, Michonne, and Tara have all latched their eyes onto a large crimson door directly in front of us. Paint chipping off of the surface of the door, I know that's the door the Savior indicated Tanner would be behind.

Dad takes a step forward.

"No!" I hiss, trying to contain my voice.

Dad stops dead in his tracks and all three of them turn around, casting me a collective, inquisitive glance.

"I'll do it." I insist.

The three of them glance between each other before Dad relents with a nod.

Slowly, and with much trepidation, I step forward until I am completely in front of them. They follow silently behind me, surveying the area around us as we go for any and all possible threats that might appear to harm us. I reach the end of the catwalk without incident, standing now in front of the red door that supposedly has my love locked behind it. I reach up with one hand, trembling slightly as I do, and take hold of the door handle. For a split instant, fear overwhelms me. It is entirely possible that I could turn this door and find Tanner dead, or worse... turned. My heart leaps into my throat at the thought of finding his mangled corpse clinging to this world only by the disease that turns the dead into monsters. Of course, I could I also open this door and discover the room to be empty, the Savior from earlier having lied to us. A sudden hand on my shoulder brings me back to reality.

Dad.

"Maybe I should-"

"No." I shake my head, tightening my grip on the handle. "It'll be me."

"We should hurry." Michonne warns. "Every moment we're in here, we risk getting caught. Let's get him and go."

I nod my head in agreement and twist the knob.

_Here goes nothing..._

####

The room is dark.

Almost like an abyss, it seemingly devours all light, not allowing me to make out anything inside for several seconds while my eyes adjust. As they do, I can faintly see the outline of a window higher up in the small chamber. The clouds of the gathering storm outside must be covering the moon, forbearing it to show its light. For a moment, there is no movement, no sound. The room is like a tomb, reeking of dust and death, but lacking even the smallest sign of life. My heart begins to fall rapidly. That can only mean two things. Either he isn't here, or he's here and he's dead. I feel the familiar, frustrating sensation of tears stinging at the back of my eyes. Then, suddenly, there is movement. Its slight at first. Slight enough to just be the pipes settling or some other natural phenomenon. But then it comes again. A scuffling noise. As if something or someone is struggling to get to their feet. The thought hits me again;

_What if he's a walker._

Its possible.

_Oh God... if he is... I don't think.. I don't think I can do this!_

A footstep.

Almost a cautious footstep.

_Walkers don't do that..._

Walkers are incapable of being cautious. They aren't smart enough.

_Then that's..._

"...Carl?"

The voice that echoes out to me from the back of the room is weak, faint, as if the person who uttered it hadn't slept in days. Even so, I know this voice. It hasn't even been a full twenty-four hours since I last heard it, but even if it had been ten years, I'd know who it is that is speaking to me. Another footstep lightly taps the ground as a dark figure emerges from the darkest bowels of the room to get a better look at me. At us. When I see him, my breath catches in my throat. Tanner looks like absolute shit. My love is covered in dried blood, his eyes drooping wearily with fatigue, and he seems to be only barely standing. As soon as my mind registers all of this, my tough demeanor collapses, and I subconsciously throw myself forward the necessary few steps, wrapping him in the tightest hug I can possibly muster. The force of the impact knocks my hat off the top of my head, landing ungracefully on the floor next to us.

Tanner seems somewhat shell-shocked at first, his weary mind still processing the reunion, but slowly he begins to grasp what is going on. I feel his arms slowly wrap around my thin waist, pulling me tightly into him, as his fingers curl into a tight grip on my jacket. For me, time seems to come completely to a stop, allowing me to take him in. He reeks of walker blood, and yet, after all the anxiety I've been through worrying about his well being, the fact that he is alive makes it the sweetest scent I've ever had the pleasure of smelling. Tanner buries his face into the crook of my neck, cradling me as tightly as he possibly can. I can feel his warm breath lightly brush the side of my neck. Its nice just to have him in my arms again.

"Did I wake you?" I murmur into his hair, which is pressed against the side of my face.

"You kidding?" he chuckles weakly into my neck. "You know I can't sleep without you."

My heart melts.

I can't contain the sudden grin that curls across my lips.

"What are you doing here?" he mumbles.

Now its my turn to snort a laugh, "What does it look like?" I chuckle. "Saving your ass."

Tanner pulls his head back slightly, arms still tightly wrapped around me. Tanner looks tired; exhausted even. Yet, even so, a light smile touches his lips.

"I love you." I manage, beaming.

I've said those words probably a million times in the three years that Tanner and I have been together. Never, though, have they been more true than right now.

"I- _Mmph_?!"

I don't let him finish. I already know what he's going to say anyways. Instead, I swiftly cover his lips with mine and press into him, kissing him hard. I don't care that we have an audience. I stopped caring about that long ago. The shock soon wears off and Tanner returns my kiss in earnest. Its short, its sweet, and its everything the both of us need after all that's happened these past few hours. After a moment, Tanner and I reluctantly withdraw from one another, allowing him to get a good view of who else has come along with me. Dad, Tara, and Michonne hang back in the doorway, as they watch our reunion unfold.

"As adorable as this is," Tara smirks. "Can we save the reunion until we're away from this place?"

"Agreed." Michonne concurs. "We can't wait here any longer."

"Are you okay to travel?" I cast a worried glance back at Tanner, who still looks like he's just risen from the grave.

He nods weakly.

"I'll be fine." he grunts. "Lead the way."

####

"I brought you this." I whisper to Tanner as we clear the catwalks and plant our feet on solid ground.

Swinging the strap of his sword over my shoulder, I hand Tanner his weapon, which he slowly grasps and then takes back; carefully strapping it back around his own torso.

"That makes twice now that you've retrieved this thing for me." he whispers back.

Its true.

I'd retrieved the same weapon from Terminus after we went back to finish off the cannibals there. Tanner had lost it after being shot. Now here we are, repeating the past. I smirk at him, but we are quickly hushed by Dad.

"Keep it down." he hisses. "We're almost out."

Carefully and as silently as possible, Dad eases open the door back into the main factory room. Immediately, we notice something is very wrong. Only minutes before, when we'd passed through here, the room had been full of sleeping Saviors. Now the room is empty. Not a soul in sight. Dad notices this too and quickly cocks back the hammer of his Colt Python. I'm quick to follow his lead, along with Tara and Michonne. To my surprise, and despite his fatigue, Tanner senses our alert and swiftly draws his own sword, angling it into a defensive posture in front of him. We take a moment to observe the room. No sign of walkers or any other struggle. That bodes badly for us. My thoughts immediately travel to our friends waiting outside. Glenn, Maggie, Sasha, and Daryl. They could all be in immense danger right now. Dad seems to arrive at a similar conclusion and makes a bolt for the door with the rest of us in hot pursuit.

Cold air licks my skin harshly as the door is thrust open, allowing the wind from the outside storm to burst in and sweep over us. Surveying the courtyard, there is no sign of Sasha or Daryl where we'd left them. The familiar moan of the walkers guarding the fences rises up and mixes with the wind, creating one of the most eerie sounds I've ever heard. Like and orchestra from Hell, the walkers cry out in hunger, having heard movement behind them. Overhead the sky bursts, sending a streak of lightning across its dark abyss, temporarily illuminating the darkness. Still no sign of either of them.

"Where are they?!" Tara barks in a panicked tone.

"Who else came?" Tanner vocalizes, clearly confused by all of this.

"Sasha, Daryl, Glenn, and Maggie." I reply promptly. "Sasha and Daryl are supposed to be here."

"Shit...!" I hear Dad curse under his breath.

Once more, Dad bursts into action, swiftly crossing the courtyard until we reach the gap in the fences, and the walkers, granting us a very clear view of the woods where we'd left Glenn and Maggie to look after that Savior. Only, that's not what I see when I look out across the yard. My hand involuntarily leaps up and takes a hold of Tanner's, fear gripping my chest even as anger rises to join it. Negan. Negan and his men to be more precises. And that's not all. He has them. Sasha, Daryl, Glenn, and Maggie. But what really boils my blood is the sight of the man standing directly next to Negan. Its the man from earlier. Burn marks running entirely down the side of his face, the Savior stares us down rather menacingly. Negan himself, whom usually wears a smile of arrogance, doesn't seem at all pleased by this disturbance.

"Rick!" he calls out angrily. "Why don't you get the fuck out here?!"

Nobody moves.

I feel Tanner grip my hand tighter.

"Everyone stay behind me." Dad breathes.

Another crack of thunder rumbles through the night sky as we advance. Leaving the protection of the fences, we carefully tread the gap in the walkers until they too are no longer a threat, and we are finally face to face with our nemesis again. The Saviors waist no time. Descending on us like a pack of ravenous vultures, the thugs seize us, stripping us of our weapons and holding us hostage before our other groupmates, and before Negan himself.

"Gotta hand it to you, Rick!" Negan barks over the storm. "Your group has an excellent motherfuckin' habit of getting fuckin' caught. This makes, what? The third fuckin' time?"

Dad says nothing, replying with only a scowl.

"Well, this time its gonna be fuckin' different!" the thug leader declares. "I've tried being merciful. Oh God, have I been fuckin' merciful. But it seems that no matter what the fuck I do, you don't fuckin' get it. Bargin' in to my home and taking _my_ fuckin' guest?! That's the final straw Rick. Now everyone is gonna fuckin' die except you. Your gonna watch it all, though. I'll make you watch every fuckin' moment."

With that, Negan nods to his men, who promptly and forcefully push myself, Tara, and Tanner forward to the center of the group. As if on cue, the skies rend in two, splitting with the loud boom of thunder, as the heavenly vaults are opened and rain is poured down upon us. The downpour is intense and brutal, but it doesn't stop Negan. Negan is the devil himself and it doesn't appear that even this storm will stop him from carrying out his devilish plans. Flinging Lucile, his bat, over his shoulder, the large thug steps forward and circles around us until he is directly behind me. Tanner suddenly becomes more lively, struggling to break free of the henchman holding him steady. I feel a light prick on the back of my skull and suddenly realize why. Negan is holding his barbed wire bat directly to the back of my head. Even Dad reacts to this;

"Let him go!" he barks over the rain.

"I told ya Rick! Everyone is gonna fuckin' die tonight." Negan retorts loudly. "But not before we have some fuckin' fun!"

One of Negan's thugs suddenly shoves Tara to her knees, making a loud _slosh_ as she sinks into the muddy ground. Tara's look is nothing short of terrified, accented by the rainwater streaking down her cheeks. At the same time, a second thug steps forward and hands Tanner a small gun. Tanner looks bewildered at the offer, only to have the small weapon shoved into his grasp. Slowly but surely, it dawns on me what Negan is going to have Tanner do with that weapon. My veins go cold.

_Oh no..._

"She's the first one to fuckin' die. You're going to do it." Negan declares. "And if you don't fuckin' want to?" He presses the barbed bat harder into the back of my head, causing me to wince. "I'll beat the fuckin' shit out of this guy's head."

Tanner's eyes widen in horror, flashing between Tara and I as if searching for some way out.

My heart breaks further in that moment.

The choice before him is impossible. Kill one of his closest friends, and have her blood forever on his hands, or kill the person he loves most in this world. I don't want Tanner to have to make that choice. I don't want him to live consumed by guilt for the rest of his life. I know what that feels like. I had to shoot my mom. She was alive, just unconscious. She hadn't died yet. She hadn't turned. I shot her. I ended it. The guilt has lived with me for years, even to this very day. I always wonder if things could've been different. Why she had to die and why I had to kill her. If Tanner kills either of us, the same weight would eternally be on his shoulders. On his heart. I can't let him do that alone.

I open my mouth to say something.

To tell him he doesn't have to do it.

Tell him that, even though Negan is going to kill me, that I don't blame him and that I love him.

Instead I open my mouth and hear Tara speaking in front of me.

"Its okay, Tanner." she tells him, surprisingly calm despite the look of anguish painted across her face. "Do it."

Tanner's head shakes, though it is unclear to me whether it is involuntary or not. The hand which tightly clutches the gun he was given trembles violently, however. He doesn't want to kill her. He doesn't want to kill anyone. Why would she tell him it was okay? Certainly she didn't think he'd actually do it? Tanner is much to soft-hearted to pull the trigger on her, or me, or anyone.

"Listen to me." she goes on, even as tears well up in his eyes and mix with the rainwater pelting us all. "Carl came all this way for you. Just like you've always done for him. You gotta stay alive. You gotta keep him safe. That's your job. That guy is serious. He'll kill him if you don't kill me. Do it, Tanner. I've made my peace."

"I-..I-.. I can't!" Tanner stammers, tears now free falling down his blood-dried face. "You-"

"You've got to, you hear me?!" Tara yells now over the rain. "I have my sister waiting for me. My dad. My... my niece, Meghan. My family, Tanner. Yours is right over there. You've gotta protect him."

"But..." Tanner argues. "But you're family too...!"

"Ain't that fuckin' sweet!" Negan bellows, full of sadistic glee. "Get the fuck on with it! I don't have all fuckin' night! Its raining out here, ya know!"

For what seems like an eternity, or maybe two, the internal struggle is painted across Tanner's face. I know he'll never be able to bring himself to do it. He's too gentle. Even after all he's seen, been through, and fought against, he's still too gentle. Tanner begins to waver, his hands slowly lowering, along with the gun. Tara sees this and makes the most surprising move yet. Reaching out before anyone can make a move to stop her, the petite woman seizes Tanner's wrists and jerks them upward, pressing the barrel of the weapon firmly into her forehead. Tanner is so weary from lack of sleep, he doesn't even seem to register her movements until after its already done. By the time he realizes what she's doing, its much, much too late.

"Sorry, big guy." she mutters as her thumb slips into place. "Take care of Carl, okay?"

_BAM!_

The shot is thundering.

A geyser of blood and brain matter erupts from the wound, spraying a horrified Tanner, and any nearby onlookers. With that, Tanner's spirit is shattered and he collapses to his knees in stunned silence, staring down wide-eyed at Tara's limp corpse. My own body is suddenly wracked with emotion. Pain, grief, sorrow, pity, and guilt slam into me at once and the tears which I've fought to hold back ever since reuniting with Tanner falls freely. The others seem to be in complete shock as well, save for Maggie, who is now sobbing uncontrollably against the torrent of rain. Behind me, Negan pulls back, only to deliver a hard kick to my spine that knocks the wind from my lungs, causing me to land on my knees in a similar fashion to Tara. I know what is about to happen. I'm next. Negan is going to make Tanner watch me die.

"And now," I can see him raise Lucile out of the corner of my eyes. "Let's fuckin' deal with you."

The bat arcs downward.

_BAM!_

I hear a second shot, then contact as the bullet shreds through the wooden bat and shatters Negan's weapon before it can reach me. Splinters of wood and metal from the barbs sprinkle around my knees, leaving everyone present stunned. My head shoots up just in time to catch Tanner rise, a murderous glint in his eyes, take aim and fire another shot. Negan manages to tuck and roll out of the way, leaving me unguarded and finally, giving the group the opening we've all been waiting for. Their guard dropped, Dad easily breaks free of the man restraining him, snatching his gun back and firing at his captor, killing him in one shot. Tanner is suddenly at my side, tightly gripping my upper arm in his hand to help me to my feet. Somewhere in the chaos, Michonne has managed to kill her captor and retrieve her sword, and is now carving through several of the nearby Saviors.

"You..." the voice of Negan suddenly comes from off to the side. "You shot Lucile?! How _fuckin' dare you motherfuckin' shoot Lucile!_"

Negan and the other Saviors, having finally gotten over the shock, come to their senses and move in to counter attack us, however, a sudden movement off to my side catches my attention. When I spin around to get a better view, I see the worst possible thing. Something that can make even this situation go from bad to worse. All of the shooting and noise must've drawn them from nearby. One by one, they lurch out of the woods, hissing and growling with ravenous hunger. At first it is only a handful. Then several dozen. Then at least a hundred of them. Pouring out the nearby woods, their numbers continue to get larger and larger.

A herd.

"Oh... _fuck!_" Negan curses.

The Saviors open fire on the undead, taking out several towards the front, but there is simply too many. The combination of the rain and the low visibility of night makes it hard to determine just how many, but I can say with sureness that the number is simply massive. Without waiting to see any more of those monsters emerge from the woods, Negan and his men, shockingly, begin to retreat towards their factory.

"Too motherfucking goddamn many!" Negan shouts to his thugs. "Back inside! GO!"

The Saviors don't argue and within moments, most of them have managed to make it safely behind their fences. We, on the other hand, are right in the way of the oncoming onslaught.

"Carl!" Dad shouts. "Everyone! Let's go!"

No arguments from me.

Holding my hat down to my head, I take off in the direction Dad and the others are rushing. Tanner suddenly appears beside me and the two of us run side by side. Reluctantly, he casts a glance back over his shoulder, directly towards where Tara's corpse is laying cold in the mud. The oncoming herd is advancing far too quickly. Even if he tried, he wouldn't retrieve her in time.

"Its over, Tanner!" I shout over the rain.

My heart aches for him.

I know he must feel absolutely numb inside after what's transpired. Even so, we can't stop now. We must keep running.

"I know." he murmurs, casting me a final solemn glance.

"Then lets go..."

And so we run for the trees.

* * *

**A/N: Whew...! Now THAT was a doosey of a chapter, no? Sorry it took me so long. Writing a death, you want to make sure you get it just right, and I had to rework that scene a few times to get it where I liked it, but I think it turned out alright. So, did anyone see that coming? XD I hope I at least managed to surprise a few of you. I know, I'm terrible. Carl and Tanner reunite, and are sweet to each other, and then I had to go rip everyone's heart out again. I do that... a lot . And what of Negan? Did he and his group make it inside in time? Is this the last we'll be seeing of them? All these questions and more will be answered soon enough, I promise. Anyways, chapter 10! Things only keep getting better from here folks! But for those romance saps in my readership, you will be pleased; a romance-centered chapter or two will come before things start getting too crazy again and we'll see how Tanner copes with this latest loss, which is a bit closer to home than Tyreese was. Thank you for reading! Remember to follow, favorite, and review! Love hearing from you guys!**

**Now onto the reviews!**

**superfaraway: Thank YOU for reading! :D Sorry I keep ripping your heart out xD I bet this chapter didn't exactly help with that! But that's how it goes. Good stories tear at your emotions. I hope you continue enjoying! Thanks for your review!**

**Kayden Pause: Of course I was! Thanks for the compliment! I bettcha hate him more now, huh? I certainly do xD Tanner getting captured again, I'm sure, was hard on him. But he did it to keep Carl safe. You know how he is. He's a glutton for punishment if he knows Carl will benefit from it. Thanks for your review :)**

**IamwhoIam987: I'm trying to improve my "cliffhangers" so I'm glad it is working! Glad you enjoyed! Hope that continues :)**

**Guest: I shall and thank you very much! :) Hope you continue to enjoy!**

**Obtained: Sorry for making you wait xD' I'm taking a bit longer with these chapters because I want to make sure they're absolutely up to par for you guys so that you can enjoy them each time! Hope this one was no different! Thanks for the comment! :D**

**Thanks guys!**

**Again, for those of you who PM me, I'm still having difficulties loading the page. I'll PM you all back just as soon as I'm able. Sorry about the delay! Thank you all again for reading and I'll see you with the next one!**

**Later!**


	11. Right From the Beginning

**A/N: Friendly reminder; with this chapter, we return to Tanner's point of view. Enjoy :)**

* * *

The downpour is stronger now.

We lost the herd hours ago in the trees. It hadn't been easy. Hungry walkers are persistent and they chased us for what seemed like miles. Nevertheless, our saving grace was that walkers aren't particularly smart and, before long, we managed to give them the slip. Of course, by the time we did, we were all soaked to the bone. Luckily for us, however, we eventually broke through the trees and reached the abandoned car-littered highway. Making it back to Alexandria tonight is out of the question. The storm alone makes it too dangerous, but the herd lurking somewhere in the trees, coupled with the chances that Negan and the Saviors could eventually come looking for us, doubles that risk. Instead, Rick proposed that we find some vehicles to use as shelter from the storm for the rest of the night and then take off towards home once morning arrives. We easily locate a cluster of vehicles, which are in an agreeable arrangement, on the opposite side of the road, to use for our makeshift camp. Both Rick and Daryl volunteer to stay up and keep watch, though they too will be using a vehicle to get themselves out of the rainstorm.

There is an air of somberness between us all as we clamber into our respective vehicles. Tara's death has hit us all profoundly. I don't see anyone sleeping particularly well tonight. Least of all me. The pain swelling in my chest is nearly unbearable. Everytime I close my eyes, I can see her face staring up at me, her hands keeping the gun in my own hands locked tightly against her forehead. Images of her using her own thumb to force me to pull the trigger. I wince painfully everytime it replays in my head. Every bone and muscle in my body aches with exhaustion, yet I cannot find sleep. Tara's death, practically at my own hands, haunts me worse than any ghost could. The pain is so immeasurable, it seems as though I have even lost my ability to cry about it anymore. The stinging sensation of tears stabs the back of my eye sockets, but nothing will come out. The silence of the car Carl and I had chosen to sleep in only deepens these thoughts and makes them more persistent. I shift uncomfortably, unable to sleep, and that's when I remember, or rather notice, that I'm resting in Carl's lap. His hat sits, soaking wet, in the passenger seat in front of us, and he is wearily staring blankly out the front window.

Nevertheless, somehow, he senses I am awake.

"You should sleep." he says. "You're exhausted, Tanner."

My eyes lightly drift away from his visage and down towards the ground. I couldn't sleep even if I wanted to.

"Can't." I reply simply, softly.

"Of course you can't." he huffs. "How can you sleep in those soaking wet clothes?"

Not why I can't sleep, but he raises a good point.

My clothes are drenched, as are his. The result is a cold so gripping, it almost feels as though my bones themselves have turned to ice. Even ignoring everything that has happened, sleep is nearly impossible in clothes this wet. And yet, I can't find the willpower to take them off. Its not like I have a change of clothes anyways.

"Here." Carl says.

I'm suddenly enveloped in warmth. It takes me a moment to register what Carl has done. My love has removed his thick wool jacket and wrapped it around my body like a blanket. I've never worn Carl's jacket, so I never noticed. The jacket is much thicker than it looks, so while the outside is soaked, the inside is still dry and very warm. Its a sweat gesture because I know Carl is not benefiting from it at all. I can now feel him shivering ever so slightly in the cold, stormy, night air. I feel terrible. Carl risked his life, and the lives of others, to come and rescue me and I have yet to so much as thank him. To be honest, I don't think he minds; a lot has happened since then and I think even his mind is racked by the severity of it all. I still want to thank him, though, so I gently raise my arm, which is draped over the side of the back seat, and rest my hand gently against his knee; giving him a gentle squeeze to draw his attention.

"Thanks for coming after me." I mumble once I see his eyes are on mine.

Carl studies me briefly.

His eyes are murky with sorrow and confusion. Its only now that I see just how heavily this is all affecting him. One of his hands comes up from the side and sweetly brushes my hair out of my face, the way I so often do to him. Its only momentary, but the rough skin of his palms lightly brushes the smooth skin of my face as he does this, sending an involuntary shiver down my spine. His touch almost always has that effect on me, even now, after three years and being thoroughly used to Carl touching me. My mind wanders again, traveling back to Tara. I just can't wrap my head around it. I can't believe she's gone. Tara was important to me. After Carl's old group reunited at Terminus, she was the first one I'd become friends with. By the time we came to Alexandria, the two of us were close enough that I would ask her advice, knowing to expect her snark in return, without even thinking about it. We were always jokingly arguing about our love lives, giving each other a hard time over silly shit in public, but most of all, she was always supportive of Carl and I. And I do mean always. In many ways, I considered her to be as close to me as Michonne and I are, and that's saying a lot, considering I regard Michonne as an older sister figure. But now Tara is dead.

Killed.

Killed by a gun that was in my hands.

How could I not stop her?

"Does it ever get easier?" I suddenly blurt out into the silence.

Carl silently regards me again.

He knows what I'm talking about. Carl doesn't need me to explain a whole lot to him anymore, like he used to. I've said it before, but I'll say it again, our relationship has definitely evolved. He just gets me now. I don't know how he does it, but I think I can do the same thing for him. One of us can say something and, without even having to elaborate, the other just understands. Carl understands me, because he's gone through the same thing. I cannot count the number of times I've woken up to find him in a very emotional state, having woken up due to a night terror about his mother, Dale, or Shane. Nights when I would simply cradle him and let him recount the dream to me. Even though none of their deaths were explicitly his fault, he blames himself for all three of them. Its a burden, I believe, he will take with him to his grave. Now I know what that feels like.

"No." he eventually replies. "It never does. You just make room for the hurt and move on. That's all you can do."

What a profoundly wise response.

I have to admit, even I sometimes underestimate Carl's wisdom at times.

"I killed her, Carl." I go on, chest suddenly swelling with grief. "That gun was in my hand."

"She pulled the trigger." he points out. "She made her choice. You can't put that on yourself."

"I could've stopped her."

"Yes," he admits. "Or at least, its easy to say that now. In the heat of the moment, its hard to act on what you _could have_ done."

I sigh aloud.

He's right.

The thought didn't even cross my mind when it was all happening. It happened too quickly. The combination of fear, panic, and exhaustion severely hampered my ability to think clearly. By the time I knew what she was trying to do, it was much too late for me to stop her. She pulled down on my finger and the hammer went off, putting and end to my friend's life.

"How do you do it?" I find myself speaking again. "All your friends' lives from before? How do you cope with all that loss?"

I've never asked him that before.

Never saw the need.

I've always known that somehow, someway, Carl always copes with the losses he's been presented. I never wanted to touch a soft spot by asking him, but now I feel its finally time to ask. To know. Carl isn't the type to get angry at me for asking a question like that. A stranger? Maybe. But not me.

"I don't know." he breathes cryptically. "I just... I just do, I guess."

I nod.

That's all I can expect.

"But..." he goes on. "I have you. That helps."

Leave it to Carl to actually make me smile, despite the circumstances. I shift again in his lap, resting my head so that I can look straight up at him. In the darkness, I can make out very few of his features, but I can still see the glint of his cobalt eyes. The eyes I've fallen in love with so many times, I've actually lost count of how many times I get myself trapped in their gaze. For what must be the billionth time, I'm reminded of just how lucky I am to have him in my life. It was only by freak accident that the two of us met. We very easily could've left that neighborhood at separate times and never have known the other was there, but somehow, fate found a way to get us together. Now, three years later, and with a wedding band around my ring finger, I can't imagine a single day of my life without him. The soft expression on his face tells me he feels the same.

"Carl?"

"Hmm?" he hums.

"Hold me?"

I can't ever recall having asked him to do that once in our three years of togetherness. I've never needed to. He always would whenever the moment felt right, or just before we would fall asleep. Now though, I need him to. I have no qualms about asking him. My modesty and pride, which were highly present when the two of us were younger teenagers, has dispersed with age and experience.

And Carl is all too happy to comply.

I scoot over slightly in the back seat, allowing him to lay on his side behind me. Once comfortable, he wraps his long, but thin arms tightly around my waist and then tugs his warm jacket over as much of us as he can cover. Its even warmer like this. Carl pulls me into himself tightly and rests his head in the crook between my neck and shoulder. Perfect. Like this, all of him is touching all of me, and I can finally feel close to him again. I always like holding him like this, but it is much better, in my opinion, when he holds me. His touch is more delicate, more careful, and yet there is a firmness to his embrace that makes me feel safe and calm. Even though my heart is racked with guilt and pain, Carl's loving embrace eases it ever so slightly.

"This what you had in mind?" he whispers into my ear.

"Yeah.." I hum with a sigh. "Its perfect."

The two of us go silent for awhile, the noise of the outside storm rushing in to fill the silence. Carl's embrace is warm and it is comforting. Perhaps, with him here, I can actually manage to make it through a few hours of sleep before dawn breaks and we're forced to move again. That, as it turns out, is false. Minutes turn into an hour and even still I can't sleep. Its frustrating at first, because I suspect Carl has fallen asleep easily. But just after thinking that, I make a realization. Carl's breathing hasn't steadied and he's still shifting around every now and then. He hasn't fallen asleep yet either. Carl often talks a big game, especially when it comes to looking out for his loved ones. He's always been like that. But when it comes to taking his own advice, Carl is terrible at it.

"What's on your mind?" I speak out into the silence.

Carl stirs suddenly.

"I thought you were asleep?" he murmurs, sounding genuinely surprised.

"No more than you were." I reply. "Care to clue me in?"

He goes silent again for a moment, likely gathering his thoughts. When he speaks again, its slow, almost unsure;

"Tanner?" he breathes. "Can I-...? Can I ask you something?"

Curious now.

"Anything, Carl. What is it?"

"Yesterday." he elaborates. "When you... When you tricked Negan into thinking you were Dad's kid... You used our name. You called yourself 'Tanner Grimes'."

My mind cycles back through the events of the last twenty-four hours. I certainly remember the moment he is speaking about.

"What of it?"

"Did you say that just to deceive Negan?"

No.

I hadn't. I mean, yes, I had said it to trick Negan into thinking I was Rick's relative, specifically his son, but I was pretty certain, at that point, that we were all going to be killed. I'd taken Carl's last name in symbolism, as well as deception, to let Carl know where my loyalty and my heart belonged, in the event that Negan killed me then and there. Clearly Carl has picked up on that meaning and is confused by it. To be honest, I hadn't expected him to, nor did I expect him to act on it and ask about my reasoning. Still, in the end, I suppose he deserves an explanation.

"No, Carl, I didn't." I reply. "I did it for that reason, of course, but I also wanted to have your name. In case the worse happened."

Carl pauses a moment.

"But didn't we agree that-?"

"Yes, we did." I cut him off. "And it was a stupid decision. Stupid on my part, anyways."

"Why?"

For some reason, his persistence elicits movement from me, twisting in his grasp until our faces are literally centimeters apart; his eyes, pools of clear cobalt, completely taking up my field of vision. For a moment, I purposely stay that way, allowing him to stare directly back into my own murky aqua eyes. His breath, much warmer than the frigid night air, brushes gently across my skin, bringing goosebumps to the surface. Outside, the sky splits open, delivering a ground shaking blast of thunder. Without realizing it at first, I instinctively curl my fingers tighter into Carl's thin shirt, as if clinging to him like some fearful puppy. He notices this, however, and a grin slowly begins to curve across his face. One thing I've learned about Carl over the past couple of years, is that he loves to feel needed. I first started to figure this out during our initial journey to Terminus years ago. It seemed, at that time, the only time Carl was truly happy is when his father, myself, or Michonne needed him for something. Runs, protection, comfort, company, you name it, Carl enjoyed it. I suppose it made him feel like he had worth; that he wasn't just some kid, he was a valuable member of the group who could contribute. So when my fingers tightened their grip on his shirt, I think he got the sense, even if it was involuntary, that I need him for protection or comfort.

"Because, Carl." I eventually speak, softly, since he is so close to me. "I'm yours. Its only fitting, then, that I take your name."

"But-"

"No." I cut him off sternly. "No buts. Its always been this way. Right from the moment we bumped into each other, quite by accident, in that neighborhood. I protected you, assisted you on most of our runs, when we got stranded in that funeral home and you couldn't fend for yourself, I put my life on the line to get you medicine I knew I may never find. And when that man tried to rape you..." I shutter at the thought. "It took everything in me not to join your father in mutilating his corpse. Yesterday, what I did; pretending to be your dad's kid to protect you; that was just the latest symptom. I had given up on my life and this world before I met you. I just kept moving for the sake of moving, but I didn't have survival in mind. Not in the slightest. Losing your family, your mom, dad, brother, and sister... grandparents, cousins, all your friends. It changes a person. Changed me. Losing my camp outside of Atlanta... well, that was just another nail in the coffin."

The memories all come rushing back.

These past five years of the end of the world have seemed like an eternity. Even as the memories bubble forth from the abyss that is my mind, the events contained within seem so far away. The initial stories on the news, the outbreak, the camp in Atlanta, the road. Much of the first two years were bathed in darkness - broken suddenly by a bright burst of light.

Carl.

I tighten my grip on his shirt again, this time purposefully.

"I tried to die... but... then there was you. I don't know how you managed to do it, but somehow, you anchored me back into this world. Gave me something new to live for. So now... Now, my every thought is of you. Every breath is _for_ you. Its been that way every single day I've known you... even right from the beginning." My eyes again dart up to meet his, which are now watering slightly. I can't help but smile softly at the sight of my handiwork. "So yeah... yesterday I made up my mind. I realized that if all of that is true, and it is, then I need to show it to you somehow. Taking your name was the best way I knew of to do so."

I lean in, just for good measure, and deliver a short peck to his lips.

"That answer your question?" I end that question with a mischievous smirk.

Carl pursues a second kiss in place of an immediate answer, this one slightly longer and more in depth.

"Yeah," he replies when we come apart. "Its perfect..."

####

Morning dawns with a bleak, grey sky.

The storm has finally died off, but its swollen rust-colored clouds still hang in the sky over us, forbidding the sun from gracing us with its warmth. Instead a cold winter wind sweeps over the desolate landscape, causing me to shiver violently as I step out of the car. Carl has been kind to me, allowing me to keep his jacket wrapped around me. Its a little small on me, with Carl being thinner than I am, but still does its job, for the most part, of warming me up against the cold arctic air. I hadn't taken it willingly. Carl all but forced me to wear it, citing my drenched clothing, which is still wet from last night, as a reason to let me wear it. The result is Carl standing next to me, in nothing but his thin t-shirt, and his jeans, arms crossed over his chest, shivering worse than I am. The group has assembled outside the cluster of broken down vehicles to take part in what edible food we could scavenge from the backseat of the cars around us. It wasn't much and no one has said anything about it. Tara's death still hangs over us like a guillotine. Though Carl and I's talk last night had managed to soothe me at the time, I can't help but feeling completely numb this morning. My chest cavity aches as though an elephant had been sitting on it all night.

I allow Carl to have most of my share of the rations, which composed of some crackers Rick and Michonne had found in a nearby truck. Of course, Carl being who he is tries to refuse me, but I am able to use the fact that I am wearing his jacket as leverage, which eventually causes him to relent. I'm not hungry anyways. How can one eat after losing one of their best friends? I certainly can't, though I do take a few courtesy bites just to keep Carl from worrying too much. Eventually, Michonne breaks off from the group and trots casually over to where Carl and I are nestled near the vehicle we had slept in the night prior. Without much of a greeting she promptly takes a seat in front of us, crossing her legs for comfort, before casting me a weary, yet concerned glance.

"You alright?" she mumbles.

I take a moment to respond, mulling over her question.

Am I?

On the one hand, my heart feels heavy and my chest sore. No matter how hard I try not to, I can't seem to block out the images of Tara kneeling in front of me; the gun that will take her life clutched in my hand. Each time I see that image flash through my mind, it feels like a part of me is dying. That alone is a reason to tell her that I'm not okay. But on the other hand, the others are still alive, Carl is safe, and everytime I look at him a small spark of life flickers deep within my aching chest. So, I suppose, all things considered, I am okay; just wounded. Hurting.

With that in mind, I nod to her reluctantly.

Michonne purses her lips and looks me over once before offering me an understanding nod of her own.

"I know it won't bring you any peace," she says. "But I know what you're feeling. I've lost an important friend as well. We've all lost important people. If you need anything, you're among family here."

The spark in my chest flickers into a flame.

Her words really go to show just how far we've come in the past few years. When I first met Michonne, Carl, and Rick, we all took our time warming up to each other. Gradually, Rick was able to consider us a close unit of some sort, not quite a family, but what Michonne had dubbed a "pack". It was fitting at the time, but not any longer. In the old world, the term "family" usually denoted people with blood relation. Mothers, fathers, brothers and sisters. Back then I can remember the term even applying to friends who were particularly close. But this... this group. These people. I think they fit the definition better. A group whom, despite most not sharing so much as a drop of blood in kinship, somehow manages to come together, to look out for one another, and care for one another's well being.

"Thanks, Mich." I reply weakly.

"We can't stay here." Rick suddenly speaks up, abruptly ending our conversation. "We don't know where the herd is or the Saviors. We need to get back home and check on everybody."

"Then what?" Glenn vocalizes the thoughts of, I'd bet, everyone present.

"Then we go see Ezekiel." Jesus replies in Rick's place, drawing all attention to him. He, instead, focuses his attention to Rick. "Negan has now done the unforgivable twice. We got lucky to escape. Given the opportunity, he'll do it again, Rick. You need allies. Hilltop is with you, but we're not trained to fight. Not like your people are. Not like Negan and his thugs are. We need him for what's to come."

Rick and the others go silent as they consider Jesus's suggestion.

In my chest, the flame becomes an inferno.

I can't stay silent this time. Jesus is right. Negan has caused the death of two of our own, sought to kidnap and kill Carl, though I ended up being the victim of that attempt, and will happily do so again when the opportunity presents itself. Not to mention, he and his thugs directly attacked Alexandria. They are too dangerous to left alive. Its no different then Terminus. If we let them live, we'll live in fear for the rest of our lives, defeating the purpose of our sanctuary. So there is only one option left on the table.

We fight.

"He's right, Rick." I speak up, surprising Carl next to me and even myself. I'm not usually one to speak up during these occasions. "If we don't fight them, it'll never stop. They'll keep killing. Keep taking our friends. They've already targeted your family... _my_ family." I gesture to Carl next to me. "I wasn't there for the Governor, but I've heard enough about him to know. We can't let another Woodbury happen. If we let them go, they'll regroup, and attack us twice as vicious as before. This has to end and we have to be the ones to do it."

"Is that the opinion of everyone?" Rick asks, looking around at the rest of the group.

The response is unanimous.

These guys still remember the prison. I can't count the number of times Carl has recanted the story to me and he isn't the only one. They gave up trying to hunt the Governor down. The result was his return, with more supporters, and the loss of their home at the prison. That cannot happen again. We can't lose our homes and our loved ones. In Alexandria, we have a chance at a new world, one safe from walkers. We can't just let Negan take that from us. Not now. Not ever.

"Then that's what we'll do." the former sheriff's deputy declares.

####

We arrive home, on foot, shortly after midday.

The town isn't like it was before. Hardly anyone is out in the streets. The Savior's attack has clearly scared people and revealed to them the reality that they aren't safe behind these walls any longer. Not so long as Negan is on the loose. We are greeted at the gates by Abraham and Rosita, whom both seem quite relieved to see us. Well, most of us. Rosita takes Tara's death particularly hard. The two of them had traveled together with Glenn, Maggie, Abraham, and Eugene after the prison and were caught in Terminus together. They had history.

"So what do we do now?" Abraham asks Rick, after Rosita calms down some.

"Tomorrow, I'm going to see the leader of another group to ask for an alliance." Rick replies. "Negan has to be stopped."

"I can roll with that." the former sergeant responds.

"Good." Rick nods. "Check our stores and make sure we're good on guns and ammo. Starting now, we're at war."

* * *

**A/N: A little bit slower paced chapter after all that suspense and action of the previous chapters, but some much needed character development in the first half of the chapter. Next chapter you will be introduced to some new characters and a new location. I can promise you this, you will see Tanner evolve as a character rather significantly in the chapters that follow. Like the characters we all know and love from the show, the death of friends tend to change people, and that still holds true for him. What evolution he will take on, you'll just have to wait and see, but I promise it will be satisfactory :) I've been watching the "Dead, White, and Blue" marathon all weekend. Good to have The Walking Dead back on television. Makes me even more anxious for Season 5! Thank you guys for reading and supporting this story! Don't forget to leave your thoughts and comments in the reviews and if you haven't favorited or followed the story, please do! I always look forward to hearing from you all!**

**On to the reviews:**

**lexie-king: Broke my heart writing it, believe me. Tara is one of my favorites among the new characters we got in Season 4. I hope she lasts longer in the show! She's definitely an interesting one! Thanks for the comment!**

**Obtained: I have death ideas for Negan too, and each person he kills makes those ideas more twisted and violent xD We shall see where the road leads him. Hopefully nowhere good! Thanks for the comment!**

**Guest: Its always sad when the good ones go isn't it? When Hershel died, it literally took me weeks to get over it, so believe me, I know how you feel xD hahaha Thank you for the comment!**

**IamwhoIam987: That's right. She's with her family now. Its always sad to see good characters die so violently, but its nice to think that they're in a better place. Thank you for the compliments! I'll do my best to keep up the good work and keep you guys on the edge of your seats! Thanks for the review :D**

**Thank you all again.**

**I really appreciate the support you all show this story. Means a lot to me :) Until the next one!**

**Later!**


	12. The Kingdom

_A vision materializes before my eyes._

_Roused by the smell of barbecue cooking nearby, I open my eyes to a very confusing sight. This isn't the world I remember falling asleep to. Bright light is filtering through the nearby windows, causing me to squint to make out my surroundings. I sit up abruptly upon realizing I'm not in my room at home. This one is very different, completely alien. I've never seen this place before. At least, I don't think I have. Hoping to get clarity on where on Earth I could possibly be, I frantically search the room for clues. I need look no further than the nearby end table, where a collage of of picture frames is spread out. Glancing around the foreign room one last time, to make sure I'm not being watched, I cautiously, yet curiously, reach over and pick up the nearest photograph and bring it up to examine more closely. What I see in the picture completely blows my mind;_

_Its Carl and I._

_But..._

_But it just can't be!_

_The photograph depicts Carl and I many years younger; I look at least fifteen, while Carl is at best thirteen years old. From the looks of it, the two of us are at some sort of amusement park, my arm snugly thrown around his shoulder, with both of us sporting massive grins. But that can't be possible... I met Carl when he was fifteen, myself seventeen, long after amusement parks stopped being a "amusing" place to visit and rather a gathering place for the dead. As if to make matters worse, I glance up from the photograph, casting my vision towards the variety of other pictures sitting on the end table. Several more images like these exist. One photo shows Carl and I lying on our backs, in what looks like this very bed, heads touching, making some sort of ridiculous funny faces. The hell is that about? Yet another shows us much older, I'm guessing our present age, in tuxedos at what I can only guess to be a wedding. And then it dawns on me that it is **our **wedding._

_Only... we didn't have a wedding._

_Just a small ceremony in Alexandria among friends._

_...Right?_

_The last picture, however, catches my attention more fully. It clearly stands out from the others and is quite shocking to behold. Its a family picture. A Grimes family picture. Rick is there, wearing all the trappings of a sheriff's deputy, including the hat that usually adorns Carl's head. Unlike the Rick I've always known, he is clean shaven, and actually wearing a smile on his face. If I didn't know better, I'd say that this is Rick Grimes when he is actually happy. Center of the photo is Carl and I, sporting large smiles, arms wrapped around each other rather cozily. Again, we look to be our current ages, and quite content with life. But its not Rick, Carl, or I that really draws my attention. Its the figure standing directly next to Carl that holds my gaze. I've only seen Lori Grimes once in my entire life. A photograph Michonne helped Carl retrieve when he was younger and still living at the prison, survived the Governor's attack, mainly because Carl carried it in his pocket wherever he went. One night, while venting his frustrations to me, Carl showed me the picture, so I remember it vividly. With that in mind, I know without a doubt that the woman next to Carl in the picture is definitely Lori Grimes and in her arms is an infant Judith._

_But..._

_...she is dead!_

_Or..._

_I'm snapped from my thoughts by the sound of the door opening behind me, causing me to jolt with surprise. A light chuckle calms me. I know that voice. I can recognize it anywhere._

_"Sorry," the voice of Carl Grimes says. "Didn't mean to scare you."_

_I turn around slowly to see if it is really him._

_After seeing all of this, anything is possible._

_But it is indeed my love, Carl, dressed completely differently than I've ever seen him dress. For one, his hair is slightly curly, whereas I'm used to it being straight, and combed nicely. It almost seems to be glowing. Carl is wearing a button down blue and white plaid shirt, with what looks like some sort of black undershirt underneath it. I can only tell because he has the first couple of buttons undone, revealing the shirt underneath which does little to accent his prominent collarbones. The long sleeves of the plaid shirt are rolled back, revealing a rather nice-looking watch on his right wrist, and I see that he is wearing a rather nice pair of faded blue jeans, in addition to black socks. Its the look on his face, however, that is so captivating. Adoration is likely too mild a term to use to describe the look in his eyes. There's love there, definitely adoration, and is that longing I detect? Not that I haven't seen Carl give me a similar look before, but this time something seems... different._

_Trying my best to hide my surprise and confusion, I put on a facade._

_"Its alright." I mock chuckle. _

_This seems to widen his smile._

_"Are you coming out?" he inquires, leaning in the doorway. "Dad's almost got lunch ready."_

_"Yeah..." I reply. "I suppose so."_

_As it turns out, I was going to anyways._

_My body moves completely absent of my will. And not one of those "act on instinct" type of situations, either. No. My body moves and I can't seem to make it stop. I follow Carl out of the door and into a house, though I can't recall having ever been in this house. My body must have, though, because it knows all the turns to take to bring me to a sliding glass door leading to a small, fenced backyard, where everything only gets more confusing. There is a small picnic table assembled at the center of the yard, where Judith Grimes is siting in what looks to be a high chair, and is absently playing with her food. Nearby, the smell I'd picked up on earlier grows stronger, and I see the source to be a grill, where Rick is preparing lunch, just like Carl said he was. Once again I am shocked as behind me, a feminine voice draws my attention, and none other than Lori Grimes is stepping down out of the house._

_"Hey, Tanner!" she greets me casually, despite the fact that I've never met this woman in my life. "You're up!"_

_"Yup," I chuckle, scratching the back of my head. Only I didn't will myself to say or do that. My body is completely out of control now. "Carl woke me up."_

_"I didn't want you to miss out." Carl's voice comes from beside me, and my head swivels around towards him just in time for him to plant a rather loving kiss on my cheek._

_"Ewwwww!" Judith protests from her highchair. _

_When did she learn to say that?_

_I can't lie, though. It is rather humorous. Carl retorts by sticking his tongue out at her playfully. Its nice to see this side of him. Carl seems happy. Genuinely happy. As if he hasn't suffered all the losses he has... as if none of it even happened. This only deepens my confusion. What is going on here? I don't remember any of this. This house, this yard, Lori. None of it! Were the last five years of hell just a dream that seemed that long? But if that is the case, why can't I remember any of this scenery?_

_"Cut it out you two!" Lori barks at her children. "Judith, be nice to your brothers. Carl, don't tease your sister."_

_"Mom, I'm nineteen." Carl groans. "You don't have to discipline me like a child."_

_"I don't care if you're thirty, you're still my child." Lori retorts. "Now knock it off."_

_Carl huffs and marches over to where I'm standing, suddenly forgetting his frustration in order to give me a tremendously confused look._

_"You okay, Tanner?" he asks me. "You've been quiet."_

_Once again, my body acts independently of my mind and I'm not able to get the words out that I need to._

_"Yeah, I'm fine, Carl." I reply, giving him a reassuring smirk. "Still waking up I guess, that's all."_

_He nods just in time for Rick to bark out from his spot:_

_"Lunch is ready!"_

_This scene just keeps getting odder. We're eating together. As a family. The Grimes and myself. Its so bizarre that I'm actually uncomfortable. This isn't right. Its too normal. Too much like the old world. This can't..._

_A sudden gust of icy air gusts through the backyard and the sky, formerly crystal clear, turns black as night. In mere moments, midday goes to midnight, and the air just keeps getting colder. Returning my gaze to the yard around me, I suddenly jolt backwards upon realize the scene has changed again. I'm still in the yard, only this yard is overgrown with weeds; the house nearby is literally rotting, with boards hanging down and windows smashed. Adding on to the sheer creepiness of the scene unfolding before me, I suddenly realize that I'm alone in the yard. Rick, Carl, Lori, and Judith, who once surrounded me, have completely vanished without a trace, leaving me even more confused and slightly panicked. Is it a bad thing that I'm more concerned about Carl immediately? Of course, I love Rick and Judith too, but Carl has and always will be my main priority. And I can't see him anywhere._

_The sudden crunch of leaves behind me catches my attention._

_My senses are still sharp as a whip and I turn just in time to see the walker lumbering out of the nearby bushes. Decayed flesh hangs ghoulishly from its bones, and body fluids ooze out from its open sores. I knew something wasn't right. I must've been dreaming all along. There is no way I just dreamed up the walkers and the end of the world. That just doesn't happen. Reaching for one of the nearby steak knifes, I run forward, smashing the blade down into the dead thing's skull. A splatter of blood splashes across my face and the undead cadaver drops dead at my feet. Problem solved. Or so I think. Bending down to get a closer look at my kill, I'm horrified at what I see._

_Tara Chambler._

_Or the thing that was once Tara._

_Horrified, I scurry backwards, accidentally tripping over my own feet and landing flat on my ass. Now grunts and groans are coming from all around me. Everywhere I look, walkers are emerging. From the bushes, from the breaking down house, from the very earth itself. I see Rick turned into one of those things, then Judith, and then Lori. They collectively hiss hungrily and begin their slow gait towards me, their unwilling source of sustenance. I begin to pick myself up again to fight back, and that's when I see him. Stepping down out of the house, now adorning the sheriff's hat in his father's place, Carl Grimes limps down the patio and into the yard. My resolve instantly collapses upon seeing him turned, his pale flesh sagging with rot. My grip becomes so weak that the knife I was using to protect myself clatters uselessly out of my hand and onto the ground below. If that wasn't enough to completely break me, the Carl thing opens its mouth, and actually begins to speak;_

_"Tanner..."_

_Stop..._

_"Tanner...?"_

_Just end it already!_

_How could I be such a fool? I can never have a life like this. A life of normalcy with Carl and his family. A life of no worries, especially where it pertains to the death of our loved ones._

_"Tanner!"_

And, at last, the world is bright again...

####

I awaken rather violently from my dreams.

My heart is racing, my face and body feel as though they are the heat of the sun, and to top it all off, I'm drenched in sweat. It takes a moment for my senses to adjust and that's when I notice the soft feeling of another's skin against my cheek. Glancing around, I realize that I am laying on Carl's bare chest, blankets pulled up over us, which is only worsening my body temperature issue. I turn my attention upward, where Carl is very worriedly staring down at me. All at once, it dawns on me that Carl was the voice I heard calling out to me in my dream. It was all just a dream! Just to validate this, I swiftly sit up and look around. Sure enough, I'm back in the familiar setting of our bedroom in Alexandria. Carl continues to watch me, slowly sitting up himself and wiping his eyes free of sleep.

"Are you alright?" he then asks me, concern touching his voice.

I couldn't be better.

How strange is that?

I have a dream, at least for the most part, of a normal life and I'm actually more comfortable here in this hell of a reality. Of course, the ending of that dream hadn't exactly helped things. Even so, seeing Carl sitting in _our_ bed, looking exactly as I remember him, and gazing at me with that sleepy confused look of his roots me deeply back into reality and strikes my heart with an intense sensation of love. The Carl in my dream had been happy, he had his family, he had me, and was vastly different than my Carl because of it. _My_ Carl. The dream Carl had everything I wished I could give, rather give back, to the Carl sitting next to me now, and yet, I realize, that regardless of this, Carl - the one sharing a bed with me this instant - is the one I fell in love with. All his pains, his problems, his imperfections, and insecurities. As much as I want to make Carl happy and to shield him from the pain that he keeps buried inside, I'd never trade him for anything or anyone, not even another version of himself.

With that thought in mind, I lean over, wrapping my arms around his neck while leaning my forehead against his own.

Carl blinks, clearly confused by my sudden change in demeanor.

"I'm fine." I grumble sleepily, closing the last few inches of distance between us to press my lips to his.

I accidentally shift too much of my weight into Carl, pushing him back into the sheets, where I have more control. I let instinct do the thinking for me, as I swing my leg over him so that I'm virtually straddling him. From there, I simply press back in, kissing him with renewed vigor. Carl's confusion soon gives way and before I know it, he has both of his bare arms wrapped around my neck and is kissing me back almost as vigorously as I am kissing him. For many moments, we engage in this kissing fest, the sweat from my body steadily dripping down onto Carl's own exposed torso. Somewhere in this tangled mess of limbs, sweat, and love, my hands find their way to Carl's wrists, which I instinctively pull up and pin above his head. I shouldn't have done that. I have a habit of intending things to go a certain way and then taking them too far. Kissing Carl is usually one of those things. I always intend for it to be short and sweet, a mere loving gesture, and then one of us does something to turn the other on, and this happens. In this case, its Carl who is suddenly galvanized. I don't know what it is, but, over the years, Carl has developed a kink with having his wrists pinned to the bed. I wouldn't say he's into any of that bondage crap - God knows I'm not - but something about having his wrists pinned above his head really strikes Carl as a massive turn on and, as a result, he is now grinding his lower body up into mine.

Unfortunately for him, however, whatever would've become of our unintentional foreplay is brought to an abrupt halt by a knock on our bedroom door.

"You two up?" the ever calm voice of Michonne comes from behind the wooden barrier.

"Yeah!" I call back.

Hilariously, I don't move from my position, keeping Carl pinned down beneath me with the most exasperated expression on his face. I wish I had a camera so I could show him just how sexually frustrated he looks right now. Its absolutely adorable from my point of view.

"Hurry up and get ready." Michonne replies. "Rick wants to leave for Ezekiel soon."

That's right.

Today's the day.

We're all going with Jesus to meet this Ezekiel person he keeps talking about. With any luck, this newcomer will be able to help us ward off Negan and his monsters once and for all.

"We'll be out soon." I reply, and with that, she's gone.

With that out of the way, I can now focus on my lover, who is still trapped beneath me and very frustrated. As much as I want to entertain his sudden lust, I know we can't. We both have to get showers and go meet Rick. Rick Grimes, much like his son, now that I think about it, is anything but patient. If I decided to go through with entertaining Carl's desires, we'd definitely get caught, and that would not be a good addition to any day, especially with what has been happening lately. Still, that doesn't mean I can't milk this situation while I have an opportunity. Turning back to Carl, I notice that his pupils have completely dilated by this point, and his breathing has picked up. Its such a shame I have to turn him down. Almost as a gesture of apology, and with his arms still pinned above is head, I lean down and gently kiss his lips, then his cheek.

"Sorry Carl," I offer him a half smile, as I rise back up. "We'd better get a shower."

The look on Carl's face is nothing short of hysterical.

"You..." he stutters, almost unable to contain his own frustration. "You tease!"

"Come on," I shrug him off, swinging my legs over the side of the bed, all the while pulling him into a sitting position. "You know how your dad gets when we make him wait."

Carl grumbles angrily and then follows me off of the bed. Maybe showering with him will ease his frustrations a bit, so long as it doesn't get out of hand. Snatching his hand, I practically drag him towards the door, slamming it behind us, and immediately bolt for the shower. Something tells me today is going to be an eventful day...

####

The afternoon sun is a welcome sight after the dreary winter storm which had swallowed up the last two days.

Because of the warmth it brings, we are able to travel relatively comfortably with the windows rolled down. The group venturing out to meet Ezekiel consists of myself and Carl, of course, in addition to Rick, Jesus, Glenn, Sasha, Michonne, and Daryl. We're all a tad apprehensive about leaving Alexandria, especially with the threat of another Savior attack so high, but necessity demands this meeting with the mysterious man named Ezekiel. Other than what Jesus has told us about him, which is very little, we know virtually nothing about this man who may become our ally. I can only hope his bedside manner is better than Negan's. I'd hate to have to worry about another madman. Despite the rather amusing beginning to the morning, my mind has sunk back down into the shadows. My mind continues to replay the moment from my dream where I see Tara as a walker. Secretly, I'm glad she can never become one of those things. That may be the one comfort that I've taken in this incident. The blow to her head insured she can rest in peace at the very least. Carl, who tried his best to pretend to remain irritated after his earlier let down, has noticed my demeanor shift back to the way it was, and has adapted accordingly.

"You ever going to tell me what you saw?" he speaks up suddenly.

I have to remind myself that he _did_ technically ask me what was wrong this morning before I so rudely distracted him with other things.

"It was just a dream." I try to brush it off. "Nothing to worry about."

I genuinely try not to bother Carl with my own internal issues. In my mind, he has plenty to worry about outside of me, so I do my best to make his life as stress free as I possibly can. Carl, being the caring lover that he is, though, is not about to let me get away with dodging him so blatantly. He never has, so I don't know why I thought it would work this time.

"Tanner," he says sternly, casting a concerned yet serious glare at me. "You've completely changed from earlier, so I know its still bothering you. What happened?"

Guess there's no escaping it.

"I saw your mom."

The mention of Lori Grimes always causes Carl to physically tense up, a reflex developed by the sheer pain the loss of his mother has inflicted upon him. He rarely enjoys talking about his mother, but if he wants to know what my dream was about, he'll have to endure it for a moment.

"We were at some house. I've never seen it before. Can't be your old house because I have no idea what it looked like." I explain. "She was having some sort of barbecue. Your dad, you, Judith and I were there. It was like we had a normal life. Like none of this had happened and I was just waking up from some horrible nightmare. Then... they were all walkers. I was able to kill one and... that one turned out to be Tara."

For a moment, Carl is completely silent, processing my explanation. His hands are tightly balled into fists, resting in his lap; his eyes clamped shut, almost as though he was experiencing a sharp pain. He eventually relaxes, releasing the tension in his shoulders and hands. Finally, he regards me with a much softer expression than he'd given me earlier. The hand nearest me comes off of his lap, slides across the seat and gently takes my own hand. He then proceeds to give me a small, yet comforting squeeze; one I eagerly return. Though he doesn't say anything, I can tell he understands. Carl has had more nightmares than I can count about his mother, Dale, Shane, Hershel; any of the many friends he's lost along the way. If anyone can understand me, its him, and that alone is comforting. In front of us, the other members of our group, completely oblivious to our conversation, are carrying on their own discussion pertaining to our destination.

"Tell me more about this Ezekiel guy." Rick is saying.

"I suppose it can't hurt to tell you now." Jesus replies, keeping his eyes focused on the road ahead. "Like you and I, he is seen as the leader of his community; a place called The Kingdom."

"The Kingdom?" Daryl chimes in, sounding both unamused and slightly wary. "Let me guess... guy fancies himself as some sorta King?"

"You're not too far off." Jesus replies. "His people know him as a king of sorts. He never protested."

"A guy who fancies himself a king?" Rick repeats Daryl's sentiments. "And you trust him?"

"I do." Jesus replies without hesitation. "He's not like the Governor you keep mentioning. He genuinely tries to do good by his people and prefers to stay out of conflicts. It took me forever to convince him to form a trade agreement with the Hilltop. That was before Negan and his Saviors reared their heads and started causing problems. Nowadays, Ezekiel and the Kingdom keep entirely to themselves."

"What makes you think he'll change his mind now?" Glenn asks.

"Like I said, Ezekiel is a good man. What's more, he _hates_ Negan. But, as I just mentioned, he hates conflict almost equally. So long as Negan didn't bother him or his people, he resolved to remain out of the conflict. Recent events may change his mind." Jesus explains. "Negan has never attacked a community like he attacked yours yesterday. He's also never threatened to hold someone's child hostage like he did to Rick's and, had Tanner not intervened, would have gone through with. Tanner's kidnapping may even further his sympathy for our plight."

"How so?" I finally decide to get in on this little pow-wow.

"I wondered when you'd chime in." Jesus grins at me through the rear-view mirror. "You are a first-hand survivor of Negan's brutality. If anyone can sway Ezekiel, it'll be you with your testimony. Can I count on you for that?"

Is there really any question?

I despise Negan more than any human being I've ever encountered. Threatening Carl is always a good way to get on my bad side, harm Carl and you're on a fast track to seeing the monster dwelling deep within me, but Negan is responsible for the murder of two of our own. What's more, it was Negan's thugs who put the gun in my hand which took Tara's life. For me, that is the ultimate transgression, and one that only his death can fully repay.

"Yeah," I reply darkly. "Count me in."

Carl gives my hand a supportive squeeze and I manage to give him a soft smile in reply.

"Good man." Jesus replies with an affirmative nod of his own.

####

In three years of living in the direct vicinity of the fallen United States capital, I've never been this deep into the wreckage. Our community had placed restrictions on traveling into the heart of the city, thinking that it would surely be overrun with walkers and herds. As it turns out, Washington D.C. is entirely desolate. Littered with trash, leaves, overgrown lawns, and abandoned vehicles, the city is but a shell of its former glory. It is here, not far from the National Mall, that we finally disembark our vehicle at Jesus's own suggestion. According to him, to go on foot would help avoid any unnecessary assumptions of danger by Ezekiel's people. We continue, then, on foot through the decaying city streets. The capital looks nothing like I remember it looking during a trip I had taken here with my family ages ago. Each footstep we take echoes through the once hallowed halls of the buildings that once housed all levels of the United States government. I half expect Ezekiel's community to be housed in the abandoned Capitol Building. That would make the most sense, to me at least.

I am wrong, though.

The location of the Kingdom is actually quite unexpected.

After what seems like forever, we arrive on the outskirts of an old school building. This location clearly stands out from the rest. For one, there are large sheets of sheet metal placed together to form a makeshift wall around the place. The wall is much smaller than the one in Alexandria or Hilltop, but it is still large enough to keep out walkers and any other unwanted creatures. Behind the walls, apparently to reinforce them against any threats, are an array of school buses that are actually backed into the walls themselves. I can't help but admiring the handiwork that went into constructing this. Its unorthodox, but it gets the job done, which is the point of it all. Above all of this are the rusting letters of the school's former name, emblazoned just above the entrance, which is beyond the gates; Eastern High School.

Our group, myself included, suddenly comes to a grinding halt when movement and noise to the side of us catches our attention. From out of two large sheet metal gates, a pair of mounted horses emerge, both of their riders wielding rifles. My first instinct, burned into me from five years of the undead apocalypse, is to reach for my own weapon. It is a reaction shared by the others in my group, the sole exception being Jesus, who quickly raises his hand and motions for us to relax.

"Everything will be fine." he assures us. "No one is allowed to enter to see Ezekiel without an escort. That's how they do things around here."

"What's your business here?" one of the horsemen demands.

"Marcus, its me." Jesus steps forward. "We're here to see Ezekiel."

"Jesus?" the one called Marcus says, suddenly lightening up. "Been awhile since you've been to these parts."

"Yeah, well we've been having problems." Jesus replies gravely. "These good people and I need to have an audience with Ezekiel. Its rather urgent."

"Is this about Negan?" Marcus presses on, seemingly ignoring Jesus's continued pleas.

"It is." Jesus replies truthfully. That's one thing that I can definitely give Jesus. He never hides his true intentions, no matter the eventual ramifications. I can see why he got his nickname. Its certainly not just because of his appearance.

The man named Marcus seems highly conflicted about this. Jesus wasn't kidding when he said these people had no love for Negan. The resentment is clear on Marcus's face. Even so, the man is bound by duty, and as Jesus has also mentioned, these people want no part in whatever fighting is brought on by Negan and his Saviors.

"You know how he feels about this, Jesus." the man replies gravely.

"I do." Jesus responds. "But things have changed. Ezekiel needs to know what's going on, and this young man is going to be the one to do it."

I shouldn't be surprised that Jesus puts the spotlight on me.

Now all eyes are on me and there is nothing comforting about that. More conflict mars Marcus's face. The conflict in his resolve tells me that Jesus was right all along. The fresh perspective brought on by my group may be enough to bring these people out against Negan. The hatred they feel for him is already present, though I hadn't yet learned the reasons behind it, all they need now is the proper motivation. If I can provide that for them - a focus for their resentment - and the result is Negan disappearing from our lives, allowing us to once more live in peace, then I am willing to speak to this Ezekiel. Now more than I ever was. Suddenly, the man named Marcus raises his head and looks me directly in the eyes.

"Is that true, son?" he asks me.

"It is." I reply with confidence. "Now, let me speak to your 'king'."

* * *

**A/N: And so, here we are! The Kingdom. One of my favorite locations in The Walking Dead. I say that because I have been to Washington D.C. (its a very interesting city. Go if you ever get the chance) and have seen the school it was based on. Pretty neat city all around. As promised, I am continuing to focus on Tanner's character development. The upcoming meeting with Ezekiel will be a pretty important moment in that regard! All in all, I hope this was a good chapter for you all. Lots of character interaction, which is always nice to see from time to time. The next chapter, I promise, will be highly interesting in terms of the plot and such. Please review, follow, and favorite! I really have enjoyed reading all of you guy's comments, theories, and opinions! I'm glad so many of you really enjoy this :) Makes writing it that much more rewarding.**

**Now onto the reviews:**

**vmbaby: I WISH he was in the TV series. And not just because I'm bias and he's my character, or anything, but because Carl could at the very least, use a good male friend that's his age. Don't get me wrong though, his friendship with Michonne is pretty awesome. Were I in his shoes, I'd be teaming up with her too. She's just an awesome individual in general. I'm glad you like Tanner so much though! :) As an author, and one who put a lot of work into creating him, building him up, and developing him in the story, it is very rewarding to hear that others wish he were part of the actual series. I hope he continues to impress and please you! Thank you for your review!**

**lexie-king: Douchebag maybe an undestatement xD Don't worry if you haven't read the comics! I use the comics as very loose inspiration. The setting and many of the new characters come from the comics, but the events of this story doesn't line up with the comics very often. I have my own direction for the characters and this story, so you'll find that things turn out very differently in my story than they would there. As for Negan's fate, I won't spoil you on anything, but I will say that the ending of this story will be very interesting :D That's still a ways off, though, so I hope you continue to enjoy! Thanks so much for your review!**

**IamwhoIam987: Thank you, thank you, and thank you! I do my utmost best to make sure you guys are entertained and fully engaged in the story I'm trying to tell, so I'm glad you're enjoying it so much! Thanks for the review! :D**

**tentails: That is an entirely plausible way for it to happen! I won't spoil though! I must say that I love it when readers come up with their own theories and speculations about what is coming up. I'm glad you're so engaged in the story! Like I was telling lexie earlier, the ending of this story (and how Negan is dealt with) will be interesting. I can promise you that! You'll have to stay tuned to see how it all unfolds though ;) Thanks for your theory and your review! It is much appreciated!**

**Thank you guys so much! Good hearing from each and every one of you!**

**See you guys with the next chapter!**

**Later!**


	13. For Whom the War Bells Toll

The Kingdom.

Inside the gates, I see the whole of the community for the first time. The school grounds are large; as large as any major high school's would be. The semi-circular driveway is completely enclosed within the gates, and surround a large fountain that has long since gone dry and stopped working. Tents, both empty and occupied, liter the grounds and off to my left, in the distance, I can see two full court, fenced, basketball courts. It takes me a moment to absorb the sights in front of me. Up until just now, seeing this place for the first time, I had thought it would be nearly impossible to survive Washington D.C. Even though we haven't seen many yet, the city is just too large to be completely devoid of walkers. Even so, I have to admit to myself that the people of this community have done an excellent job at securing the school grounds and making a home for themselves. There is just one thing that is bugging me;

"What's with all the tents?" I vocalize aloud. "Isn't it too cold to be sleeping outside?"

"Its beginning to, yes." the man named Marcus replies. "Most of us live outside the school in the cooler seasons, then move indoors for the winter. After that storm the other day, we've begun the process of moving inside."

Well, I suppose that makes sense.

"King Ezekiel is inside." he continues. "Follow me."

My group, with me at the head, continues forward as instructed. The school is much bigger up close than it had looked from outside the makeshift gates. A large white staircase rises up directly in front of the entrance, which we make short work of, before finally reaching the large double doors leading inside. Proceeding inside, I discover that the school is even larger on the inside. I've never seen a school quite so large before, especially where I come from. The foyer alone is enormous and has clearly been renovated by the community to accommodate for its new purpose as the living quarters for the residents of the Kingdom. It almost looks like a large lounge now, with couches and other comfortable pieces of furniture spread out across the large spacious room.

"This place is huge!" Carl comments absentmindedly beside me.

"No kidding." I reply, equally in awe. "This place puts my old high school to shame."

Next to him, Marcus chuckles to himself. "It is pretty incredible, isn't it?" he gloats. "We were lucky to get to this place."

"How long has it been like this?" Rick voices from behind us.

"Since the beginning of everything." Marcus replies. "Ezekiel turned this place into a shelter at first and then, when it was clear rescue was never coming, it turned into a colony."

Our conversation is suddenly interrupted by the sound of footsteps treading the tile floor. I turn my head slightly, granting me a view of the darkened passageway, leading out of the main foyer, where the sounds originated from. Two large shadowy figures stand in the doorway, just barely concealed from sight, and appear to be watching us with keen intrigue. A sense of anticipation and trepidation comes over me, causing a prickling sensation to rush across the surface of my skin, and the hair on the back of my neck to stand at attention. My dread, however, is suddenly doused when I glance over to notice Jesus acting calm, if not somewhat joyful, while looking upon the same sight. As if sensing the unease of the rest of us, the tall bearded leader of Hilltop steps forward, passing me until he's directly between us and the figures standing in the hallway.

"Jesus?" a deep, burly voice, thick in a Jamaican accent, emerges from the hall. "Welcome back, old friend!"

The source of the voice steps out of the darkness of the outer hallway and immediately I know that I am looking upon the form of Ezekiel; the man I've heard so much about up until now. The self-proclaimed king is very regal in appearance, despite the chaos that now inhabits the outside world. He stands no taller than Michonne, with dark skin and dreadlock hair which reaches to his shoulders, and is tied in a ponytail in the back, as well as a very prominent beard. In many ways, Ezekiel looks as though he jumped right out of the Bible itself. The king wears a long, fur-collared trench coat, with a Hawaiian-type shirt worn underneath. In his hand is an elaborate cane, whose grip is carved into the shape of an eagle's head. Honestly, he is more impressive of a figure than I initially thought he might be. My first impression of him isn't threatening, but I decide to keep my guard up anyways, just in case.

"Who are these guests you bring with you?" he continues, glancing around at us.

"New friends of mine." Jesus replies honestly. "They inhabit the old town of Alexandria. Their leader, here, is that man over there." Jesus motions towards Rick, who has begun to walk forward to join his fellow leaders. "This is Rick Grimes."

"Alexandria, you say?" Ezekiel says, stroking his beard curiously. "That's quite a journey you've made. What brings you to see good King Ezekiel?"

So this guy even refers to _himself_ as a king.

While I doubt he means it in this fashion, calling one's self a king, and especially using it as part of your name comes off as quite pretentious. I actually don't know how to feel about this man. He seems friendly... but...

"Negan, actually." Rick replies bluntly.

The change is immediate.

Ezekiel's otherwise jovial face hardens to stone immediately. It never ceases to amaze me the effect Negan's name has on everyone who hears it. Almost as though it taps on the deepest reserves of darkness within their hearts and brings it to the surface.

"Hear us out, Ezekiel." Jesus quickly speaks up, preventing the vexed king from voicing his frustration. "The situation has changed. If these people are to continue being our allies, then they need our help."

I can already feel Ezekiel pulling away.

The mere mention of Negan's name has completely repulsed him. Perhaps Jesus was right. If Ezekiel is a man of peace, who turns his nose at the sight of conflict, then the mere mention of Negan - a man drenched in the blood of the people he's murdered - will naturally push him away from the subject. Even so, I cannot allow him to just walk away. We need his help. I hate to admit it, but if Negan is ever to be dealt with so that our communities can finally live in peace, we need these people and their resources.

"And who would speak for them?" Ezekiel ponders, a new darker tone to his voice. "This man?"

He gestures towards Rick.

Rick opens his mouth to speak, likely to agree to speak for us, but I'm not having any of that. I cut him off before he even gets the chance to get formed words out of his mouth.

"I will."

All eyes shift to me.

Ezekiel gives me a once-over, cocking his eyebrow skeptically at me.

"You?" his tone is almost condescending. "You're still young. In the old society, you may have been considered an adult by age alone, but to me you're still just a child. What could you say to sway me?"

I hate that.

Being looked down upon because of my youth.

Don't get me wrong, I wasn't among the teens back in the old days who believed their age somehow made them more grown, but since the end of society, things have changed. Carl, who is younger than me, has seen and done things no "child" should ever have to. I am in the same boat as he is. Not only am I an adult in body, but I've become one in my mind as well. The world around us has forced us to adopt that mindset. Its the only way you survive in the outside world anymore. I feel my expression harden as I glare at him with intensity. I won't let him misjudge me and cast me aside so easily. The more and more this turns over in my head, the more heated I can feel my cheeks getting as anger rises from deep within.

"Yeah, I'm young." I say, feeling a slight quiver to my voice. "And I've also seen first-hand what that monster you refuse to fight can do."

Ezekiel's eyes narrow, "Elaborate." he commands.

"Sure. What would you like to know?" my tone rises as the fury that has been buried in my heart ever since Tyreese was killed takes a firm hold over me. "That he bludgeoned our friend Tyreese until there was nothing left of his skull? How about forcing me to kill one of my closest friends?!"

Tara's memory rises in my mind again, causing tears of indignation to swell in my eyes and fall freely. I don't care. He needs to see this and I need to say it. Rick and the others, for the most part, stay silent, quietly listening to me. Carl, on the other hand, notices that I've begun to tremble slightly. He steps forward from the side of me, where he's been quietly listening up until now, and places his hand on my upper arm.

"Tanner... I-"

I can see how concerned he looks.

That only adds fuel to my fire, so I think it surprises him when I shrug him off and continue my tirade at Ezekiel.

"What else?!" I practically yell, stinging tears of anger and grief now freely flowing down my cheeks. "How about the fact that he tried to take away the person I love the most?" That quiets Carl. "I'm not going to sit around and wait for Negan to take him away from me too. That's why I came here with everyone to talk to you. We need your help. _I_ need your help."

Ezekiel's expression softens somewhat. His chocolate brown eyes slowly drift between myself and Carl, who has reattached himself to my arm in an attempt to get me to look at him and calm down. But I'm not going to give into that. Not just yet. My eyes stay focused on Ezekiel like hot coals. After getting a good once over of Carl, Ezekiel's eyes find mine again. When his gaze returns to mine, he is no longer looking upon me like the pitiful child he had considered me just mere moments ago. No child would say what I said. I think he knows that. No, the look in his eyes now suggest he sees me as an equal. Something of a kindred spirit. When I see that look, I allow my muscles to relax, even if my breathing doesn't, and regard Carl. His face is stern, but concerned, so I try to quiet his concerns by returning his gesture of affection; wrapping my arm around his waist so that he can at least feel close to me. Silence fills the gap between myself and the "king" of the Kingdom as the aging man ponders my passionate request. Eventually, however, he nods his silver head of hair and regards me seriously again.

"Very well then, son." he acknowledges me. "I would speak with you."

####

The school auditorium is even larger than the foyer we were in mere minutes ago.

Ezekiel has pulled me personally aside for a private audience after my little outburst earlier. Carl was a bit apprehensive about letting me go alone, but I managed to convince him everything would be alright. Ezekiel doesn't seem like the type of man to want to harm any of us. He's cautious and shrewd, but he's no Governor, and he's certainly no Negan. Convincing him to join the fight with us was going to be an interesting experience, but I'm confident that I can do it. I have to be confident. For Rick. For Michonne. Daryl. Maggie. Glenn. For all of our friends and family, but especially for my Carl. Ezekiel has turned the stage of the auditorium into a makeshift throne room. He must really be into the whole "king" designation. The aging leader of the Kingdom leaves me on the floor of the auditorium and ascends the steps of the stage.

The most shocking aspect of this room, however, is not the throne or the setting, but the creature coiled around the throne itself. I've never seen a feline this big up close and I almost have to pinch myself to convince myself that I'm even seeing it to begin with. Chained to a nearby pole, yet lying peacefully at the foot of Ezekiel's makeshift throne, is a massive Bengal tiger. The massive cat is very much awake, but somehow docile, only watching me with a passing interest from its perch upon the stage. It doesn't even make much of a move to acknowledge Ezekiel as the man passes it to take his place on his seat.

"Don't mind Shiva." he says, having spied my line of sight. "She's harmless so long as you don't attack me. Now then, we have a little more privacy. Speak your mind."

I gather my composure, attempting to ignore the big cat, and immediately dive in.

"What more is there to say?" I ask boldly. "We need your help against Negan. Not only did he bring about the murder of two of our own, but he also attacked our settlement. Its bad enough that winter is approaching and our reserves of food are low. Walkers are a constant problem as well. We don't need to be worrying about murderous thugs coming after our supplies and our families too."

"Certainly not," Ezekiel concedes. "But how is fighting the only answer?"

I expected him to say something like that. I already have a response prepared.

"Look," I say, garnering his focus. "I haven't always lived in that community. For the first two years after the outbreak, I lived on the road in Georgia. The horrors out there are unimaginable and its not just the walkers. The people are worse. That young man you saw with me, in the sheriff's hat? Before the two of us met, his home and that of his group's was a prison. Like you and Jesus, they took people in and sheltered them. Gave them food, work, and a roof over their heads. Shelter from the hordes of undead. A man who called himself the Governor destroyed that place and killed many of their friends. Now its happening again, only this time, we have a real shot at putting an end to it, if you help us."

Ezekiel strokes his snow-white beard and considers me with a fairly intrigued expression.

"And what about you?" he finally questions of me.

"What _about_ me?" I retort.

"Your friend's experience is certainly compelling, but I need to hear from _you_ why you think fighting is the solution." he clarifies. "How has fighting ever solved your problems."

I tense up.

"He's not just my friend." I snap. "He's much more than that and his name is Carl. After meeting him and his father, Rick, I traveled with them. We were looking for safety. For shelter. A gang of men attacked us on the road one night. Pulled us all out on the road. The wanted to kill us for no other reason than for their own amusement. They took Carl, put a knife to his neck, and tried to..." my voice hitches as the memories flood back to me. I try so hard to forget that night, but it is something that simply refuses to leave me. "They tried to rape him. We managed to fight them off, but I'll never forget that night. I live in fear, every single day, that it'll happen again and that I won't be able to protect him from it. But that's not even the worst of it.

"Not long after that incident, we encountered a group of people who called their sanctuary 'Terminus.' The safety they offered was a ruse, however, and they captured us. They wanted to _eat_ us. Our only option, if we wanted to survive, was to fight back and kill them all. If we didn't, they would've hunted us down and killed us. Negan is only the newest sicko we've encountered. He killed two of my friends, one of whom was very dear to me. I am _sick_ of watching people die. And I won't just sit back and take it anymore! My family calls that place home. I won't let anyone else get killed."

Finally finished, I train my eyes solely on Ezekiel.

The dark-skinned man leans back in his chair, his eyes closing, and I can tell he's entered a place of deep thought. For several long moments, what seems to be an eternity, we remained in complete silence. If none of what I've just said convinces him, nothing will. Finally, Ezekiel perks up, leaning up in his chair and facing me with a look that suggest slight curiosity.

"This boy. Carl I think is what you called him. What does he mean to you?"

My entire demeanor shifts again.

It would take me all day to tell him everything Carl means to me. There is just too much to list in a single statement. That being said, an answer comes to me regardless, and one that will effectively transmit my thoughts on the matter.

"Are you two romantically involved?" Ezekiel continues in the meantime.

"Yes," I reply without hesitation. I then quickly raise up my right hand, which has my ring wrapped around the ring finger, to further illustrate this. "Carl was a friend to me when I was in a dark place. He's saved my life almost as many times as I've saved his and, more importantly, he gave me something no one else has ever given to me unconditionally."

I smile unconsciously at the thought, while pressing my raised hand to my chest, where I can feel the _thumping_ of my beating heart.

"His heart."

Ezekiel mirrors my smile, "Well spoken." he says. "You know, I was never accepting of Negan's presence. These people consider me their king because I have done everything within my might to ensure the lives of my people are as good as they can be. From the sound of your answer, and while your concerns aren't about a community, your heart for that boy is similar to my own for this place. Negan and his Saviors... I am no friend to their kind. Still, I cannot risk the lives of my people with so little information on them. I'm sure you understand. Would you be willing to put the life of that boy, Carl you called him, on the line under the same circumstances?"

He's got me there.

I hate it, but he's absolutely right. I'd never put Carl in danger by attacking something so dangerous blindly.

"What do you need?" I ask him.

"Information." Ezekiel replies. "The layout of their sanctuary would be a good start."

Then a light bulb goes off.

A grin crosses my face as I look up to face him.

"You may be in luck, then."

####

"You're telling me Negan kidnapped you, thinking you were Rick's son, and you escaped him?!"

Ezekiel is flabbergasted.

I truthfully don't think he expected me to have the information he sought after, but now he has it. I very keenly remember the layout of Negan's home. Its hard for me to forget it, even despite the fact that I was there less than a day before Carl and the others came to my rescue. Perhaps he's even more stunned by the knowledge that I actually managed to escape from Negan's grasp. Even I have to give him that one. I was lucky to make it out of there alive. I never thought I'd say this, but if those walkers hadn't come when they did, we would all probably be dead right now.

"I had help." I confess. "But, more or less, yes."

The stunned leader strokes his beard again, "If what you tell me is true, and I'm inclined to believe that it is, then Negan's fortress is quite defensible. It will be difficult to mount an attack without heavy causalities unless we think this through."

"We don't have a lot of time." I implore him. "Once that herd moves away, the Saviors will be free to attack us again. They won't hesitate this time."

Ezekiel glances at me out of the corner of his eye and sighs.

"You're right." he concedes. "We don't have a choice, but we need at least a day to get a plan together. I will not put my people, nor yours, in needless harm. The more casualties we can avoid, the better the outcome will be."

"Is there anyway I can help?"

Ezekiel crosses the room between us and lays a light, bony hand on my shoulder, offering me an almost grandfatherly smile.

"No," he replies sharply. "You've done your part. I will speak to this Rick Grimes and also to Jesus. We will come up with a plan together. You go back to your loved one. These modern times are not kind to loving relationships any longer. It is nice to see one blooming so healthily despite the condition of the world around us. If nothing more, rest assured tonight, son..."

He trails off as he removes his hand from my shoulder and turns to walk towards the door.

"You have earned an ally this day. The day has finally come to right the wrongs that have befallen so many people under this monster."

####

"How'd it go?"

Half an hour has passed.

Rick, Ezekiel, and Jesus are deliberating, with the others from our group, on a plan of action to deal with Negan and his Saviors. In the meantime, Carl and I have ventured out to the vacant basketball courts at the edge of the Kingdom's walls in order to be alone for a little while. I've found myself a shady spot up by the far fence and have leaned myself back against it, folding my arms and closing my eyes so that I can think through the events of the day. Carl, on the other hand, has perched himself on a nearby bench and is looking at me expectantly, waiting for answers.

"You guys were in there forever." he continues.

"It went well." I reply to him. "Ezekiel is definitely on board."

"As if there was any other choice." Carl snorts.

I go silent again.

My chat with Ezekiel has other things on my mind. I distinctly remember the aging leader mentioning a similarity between the two of us. The concern I have for Carl is the same he has for his people. Is that even possible? I'm in love with Carl, which is why I'm so protective, but I suppose that when you're responsible for someone's life, mutual feelings develop that are similar to what I feel for him. Opening my eyes, I glance over in Carl's direction. Carl is crouched on the edge of the bench he was previously sitting on, watching me carefully. A frigid blast of winter wind gusts over the two of us and brings along with it a new series of thoughts. My eyes narrow. What I wouldn't do to put an end to this dangerous conflict without having to involve Carl. I probably shouldn't feel this way. Carl is more than capable of defending and taking care of himself. Sometimes I have to remind myself of that. He's infinitely stronger than I am, at least in my mind. And, could he hear my thoughts, Carl would probably remind me the same thing. He's certainly not helpless. But, as I'd argue if he did remind me of such a thing, when you care about someone, you worry for their safety no matter how capable of defending themselves they are.

"Tanner?" he speaks up. "You alright?"

I shake my head of my daze.

I really should stop zoning out so much.

"Yeah," I reply. "Just got a lot on my mind."

"What about?" he blinks clueless.

I really love how Carl can be so cute without even intending to do so.

The innocent, confused, and somewhat childlike expression he's giving me has my heart tripping over itself. I remember a time when that expression used to be his norm. Back when he was the still-tough, but ever so naive, Carl Grimes I met out on the road. He's matured so much since then, if that is even possible, but every now and then, this side of him slips out through the cracks, causing me to smile involuntarily.

"How much I'd give to keep you safe." I reply truthfully.

I think that response catches him quite off-guard.

His eyes widen, as if he is somewhat surprised, and then his expression immediately softens.

"I finally understand what you've been trying to tell me since this whole thing started." I go on without waiting for him to finish. "I was like Ezekiel when Jesus first came to Alexandria with his proposal. I wanted nothing more than peace. To stay out of the fighting. Somehow, I thought it would be better for us."

As if sensing something I couldn't, Carl rises from his spot and crosses over to me, where he then places his hands on my waist.

"There's nothing wrong with wanting that." he points out.

"I kept thinking to myself... war isn't heroic. It isn't 'fun'." I continue in spite of his words. "Wars are filled with despair. They are dark, terrifying, and ghastly. Even after living through places like Terminus, I don't take joy in killing people. But..." I pause and clear my throat. "I've learned that, in this world, nothing goes as intended. There are always going to be men like Negan out there who think its their lot in life to kill for their own twisted amusement. That's why, no matter how bloody this thing gets, I'll fight to keep you safe. You and Judy and all our other friends."

"You think too much sometimes." Carl quips, grinning to lighten the mood.

I can't help but smirk.

"Yeah?" I reply with a chuckle. "Perhaps I do."

I happen to look over towards the building after saying that, just in time to spot the others emerging from the front of the school building. Carl takes notice too and we immediately begin to make our way back over to them. There is an air of seriousness as we make our approach, as if the others are dreading what is to come as much as we are. Once we're all assembled, Rick, being the natural leader that he is, takes charge of the assembly and begins to divulge our next course of action.

"Ezekiel is going to join us." the elder Grimes declares in his Georgian accent. "Together, we're going to put a stop to Negan once and for all. Tonight, we'll return home, check on our people and get everyone ready. Ezekiel is going to take a few of his men out for a scouting mission to see how the Saviors are fairing after that herd moved in, in the meantime. In one day, we'll reconvene, trade notes and make final plans for dealing with the Saviors. That's our plan for the moment."

"Prepare yourselves for what is coming." Ezekiel chimes in, unable to resist his regal nature. "Take time to prepare your hearts and minds, not just your bodies, for the coming conflict. Most importantly, take time to hold your families. Though we use it to free us from the tyranny of Negan and his Saviors, violence only begets death and sorrow, no matter which side of the fight you're on. I tell you this because once we've crossed that line, we cannot go back anymore. When we convene in one day... it'll be all out war."

* * *

**A/N: Finally Ezekiel is in the picture! I also am very happy to introduce (even though she only got a couple sentences worth of screentime in this chapter) Shiva, Ezekiel's tiger. Yes, you read that right, a Bengal tiger. She is possibly one of my favorite additions to the comic universe, and I really hope they add her to the TV show, so I couldn't resist including her here too. She'll get some screentime later as the conflict unfolds, that I promise. Seems the war bells really are chiming. We still haven't seen what became of the Saviors after our group escaped their grasp last time, but their time in the shadows is again coming to a close! You'll have to wait and see what happens in the next chapter! Hope this chapter was enjoyable for everyone! As always, favorite, follow, and comment! Love the reviews I've been getting lately!**

**And, that being said, let's go to the reviews!**

**tentails: Good luck! I hope it went well! Thank you for reading!**

**IamwhoIam987: Thank you so much! That dream was something I've been wanting to do since the end of the first story, but it just seemed to fit just right in that chapter. I'm really glad you enjoyed it! Hope this chapter was similarly enjoyable for you! Thanks so much!**

**Guest: Tanner doesn't know what happened to his parents (or family in general). If you haven't read This Cruel Reality, the prequel to this story, then I highly recommend it! It'll give you some more of Tanner's background including why he doesn't know what happened to them. I will tell you that he assumes them to be dead, though. Thank you and thanks for the question!**

**Youngblooded: Good to hear from you again! I'm glad you think so! I'm doing my best to live up to the prequel. Glad you're enjoying! :) Thanks for the comment!**

**Thank you guys for leaving your thoughts and comments!**

**See you all with the next one!**

**Later!**


	14. Jekyll & Hyde

Broken down.

Just our luck.

Our return trip has, so far, been entirely unsuccessful. Despite making it out of the city, we didn't make it much further before the SUV we're driving grinds to a screeching halt, releasing a tremendous amount of steam and smoke from under the hood once we finally come to a stop. I believe its safe to say that this vehicle has finally reached the end of its lifespan. Nevertheless, that won't stop Glenn from trying to figure out what went wrong, and so that is what he does. He currently is investing all of his energy into investigating the source of the breakdown, while the rest of us take up watch, for both Saviors and walkers, around the vehicle. There seem to be quite a few walkers lurking outside the city limits. Michonne and I take turns at them, swatting them away with our blades. The increase in activity has me on edge. Does that mean the herd is finally breaking apart and begin to fan out? That won't be good news if its true, because it means the Saviors are free of their sanctuary again.

"We can't stay here much longer." Michonne declares. "Look."

With the tip of her katana, the ebony-skinned warrior gestures in the direction of the nearby treeline, where three more walkers have emerged and begun to lumber towards us hungrily.

"I got one of 'em." Daryl notes as we again step forward.

With great precision, the redneck launches a bolt from his crossbow, catching the lead walker in the skull and dropping it like a fly. From there, Michonne and I split up, with her taking the leftmost walker, while I take the right. The reanimated cadavers hardly put up a noteworthy struggle and before I know it, we're on watch again. Daryl takes time to retrieve his bolt from the dead walker's skull before returning to us, however. About that time, Glenn slams the hood of the vehicle rather angrily. He doesn't need to say anything. We all know what that means. It looks like we'll be walking back home. We take our time to gather our gear and supplies from the SUV before taking off on foot. Given the distance we traveled by car from Alexandria to Washington D.C., it will probably take us a couple of hours to get back home. For some reason, however, this doesn't truly bother me. Its been years since I practically lived out on the road, but traveling like this is still second nature to me regardless.

From where our vehicle broke down it is only a short walk to a large bridge, still standing strong despite years without maintenance, suspended over the rushing waters of the Potomac River. The roads here are similar to everywhere else. Dead leaves cover the streets, crunching beneath our feet as we pass over them. The rest are stirred by a sudden gust of chilled winds, picking them off of the ground where they spiral in the air above us before being swept away by the currents of the air. As we begin the process of crossing the bridge, the sound of running water beneath us drowns out the sound of the wind rustling the leaves. Somewhere along this journey, my head becomes completely lost within my own thoughts, as usual. Thoughts consumed with my earlier conversation with Ezekiel, as well as the coming conflict with Negan. At times, the weight of what's to come is too much for one mind to bare. That's why I'm thankful when Carl eventually walks astride with me and brings me out of my thought-filled daze.

"Something on your mind?"

Carl really doesn't need to ask that.

By now, he knows me well enough to understand that my silence usually means I'm thinking about something. Given what we'd talked about earlier in the day, he's bound to know my thoughts have drifted back to our earlier meeting with Ezekiel. When I don't reply immediately, however, Carl takes matters into his own hands, as per the usual for himself.

"You don't have to worry about me so much, you know?" he says sternly. "I can handle myself. You'll kill yourself if you keep stressing out like this."

That's all he has to say to have my undivided attention.

"I know you can watch after yourself, Carl." I argue, shooting him a serious glance. "That still doesn't keep me from caring about what happens to you. You know that."

Carl exhales from his nose rather forcefully.

"I wish I could convince you otherwise." he murmurs under his breath. "I hate seeing you so stressed all the time."

The true irony of this situation is that both of us are worried about the other, yet frustrated because the other is being affected negatively by this. Still, there is little choice for either of us. We don't know how bad the bloodshed will get when the real fighting begins. Yet, even beyond all of this, there is something else eating at the back of my mind. Something darker. Something I've been trying to suppress since we settled down in Alexandria. No... something since long before then.

"I'm afraid of going back." I suddenly blurt out, garnering his attention again.

"Going back?" he repeats confused. "Going back home?"

I shake my head.

"Back to the way I was before Alexandria. Back before I met you." I explain. "I know its a weird thing to fear. Believe me, I've thought the same. I just keep thinking... If I lose you... If something happens to you, there will be nothing to hold it back anymore. I can't stand the thought of losing somebody else. You especially."

Carl's expression changes from one of annoyance to soft understanding.

"You're not going to lose me." he attempts to reassure me. "We've made it through everything else. Why would this be any different?"

Its the same line we give each other the moment the other starts to be overwhelmed by the state of the world.

I've said the same thing to Carl a numerous amount of times. Usually, its enough to calm the both of us down. We've been through a lot of shit together, so whenever he says that to me, or I to him, its a reminder to us both of what we can overcome as a team. This time is distinctly different for me, however. I can still visualize Negan's brutality perfectly in my mind, where it has been forever branded. The man and his gang are unlike any threat we've ever faced. Even the bandits that attacked us prior to our arrival in Terminus weren't as ferocious as Negan seems to be. There is something else, though. The root of all of this fear, rational or irrational though it may be. The fear of being alone. Carl suffered from loneliness on a psychological level throughout various times prior to meeting me, but he always had a group around him through it all. He didn't know both physical and psychological loneliness like I did.

Tapping on the memories bring fragments to the surface.

Fragments of memories I'd tried so hard to bury.

I'd spent two years, the first two after the plague hit, roaming from place to place until I'd met Carl. After my group in Atlanta died, I was all alone. At first I was okay with that. I blamed myself for their deaths, so it was only right for me to be alone. Now looking back, however, I see just how much that loneliness had affected what I soon became. Every day I became colder. Hatred and resentment had festered deep within my heart. The me that met Carl all those years ago almost doesn't seem like the same person as the me now reflecting on all of these memories. The mere idea that I had once held the tip of my sword to Carl's neck in our initial meeting makes me cringe with shame and regret. The difference between the me then and the current me are as stark and defining as the difference between Jekyll and Hyde.

Carl's hand suddenly clasping my shoulder again brings me out of my thoughts.

"Relax." he again reassures me. "Everything is going to be okay."

I nod weakly.

I want to believe him.

God knows I want to believe him so badly.

But there is a premonition to suggest otherwise...

####

Two hours pass by.

My group has made decent progress in our journey home. That isn't to say that our traveling hasn't gone without its troubles and kinks. Just like it was closer to the city, walker activity has certainly increased even here, closer to home. Not wanting to draw any unwanted attention to ourselves, Rick instructs us to attempt to remain out of sight of the walkers and only take out the ones that get too close for comfort. The worst spot, so far, was the area just outside of Ronald Reagan National Airport. Once the portal to an infinite number of destinations, the airport is now little more than a crumbling shell of a building whose parking lot is crawling with walkers; likely left over patrons from when the outbreak began mixed with those who have stumbled in over the past five years. We'd made it past the airport with a great amount of care, crossed over a shoot of stream of the river, and are now finally in the home stretch. Throughout the final stretch home, the group breaks off into their usual casual conversations between each other.

"Sheesh," I say to Michonne, next to me. "Its been awhile since I've had to walk this much outside the safe zone."

Michonne manages one of her rare, almost mischievous grins.

"You almost make it sound like you miss it." she points out.

"In some ways." I admit with a smirk. "You know, minus the walkers and all the psychotics roaming around lately."

"Speak for yourself." she jokes. "I like actually having a bed to sleep in."

Touche.

She actually has a point there. I can remember complaining to Carl more than once, during our time on the road, about just how uncomfortable sleeping on the ground or in some barn was at the time. Michonne glances over her shoulder and I, curiously, follow her line of sight. Carl is walking just a couple of steps behind us, hands at his side and head down in deep, silent thought.

_And he gets on to me for thinking too much._

I can't help but smirk at that thought.

"Saw you two talking earlier." Michonne suddenly resumes speaking, startling me from watching Carl. "Everything alright?"

I give Carl another glance and then sigh.

"Yeah, for what its worth." I reply.

"You don't sound too convinced."

Now I regard her seriously, "We're both worried about the same thing and wish that the other didn't have to worry about it so much." I explain.

Michonne manages another light chuckle at that.

"You two really are meant for each other." she says. "I didn't think I'd meet anyone who internalized things as much as Rick and Carl do until I met you."

"Gee, thanks, Mich." I moan, rolling my eyes.

This earns me a playful nudge from the older woman, who merely continues to smile at me. Her smile, however, fades rather rapidly, as if her mind was suddenly racked by a new series of thoughts. Thoughts that distracted her from a brief moment of jovial playfulness.

"You're still thinking about Tara, aren't you?"

I hate when I'm right.

Michonne is a very blunt person, not one to hold back her thoughts or perception, especially whenever she feels like it is necessary to discuss such things. The truth is that I've never stopped thinking about Tara. The fact that, when we return to Alexandria, I can't hunt her down and poke fun at her, which she undoubtedly would return back at me, makes my chest feel hollow. The fear and paranoia that resulted from her death has now spread outward and attached itself to Carl. Never in my time with this group did I think Tara would die the way she did. So now, even knowing all that Carl and I have been through, I worry that I could lose him in a similar, shocking, unexpected moment. That particular fear is eating me alive. As cliche as it is of me to think this, losing Carl would break me in every way a man can be broken. I simply can't fathom a life of any kind of normalcy without him which is ironic, considering that, prior to meeting him, I was content with just being alone. It really goes to show just how much Carl has changed me over the years.

"Tanner?"

"Yeah," I blurt out. "Every day."

Michonne recoils, pursing her lips and gathering her thoughts. Then she turns back to me.

"Tanner, you-"

An explosion of shrapnel, which causes my heart to leap and my ears to ring, completely cuts Michonne off, sending her sprawling for cover while I jolt backwards towards Carl. Another spray of gunfire has the entire group sprawling for shelter behind trees and abandoned vehicles. I can barely hear anything between the ringing in my ear and the violent thumping of my own heart. I take a moment to catch my ragged breath, then turn to check on Carl. Carl is crouched next to me and has completely gone into survival mode. His gun is out and he is carefully peaking around the back end of the car we're using for shelter. For a moment, all around us, silence descends and consumes us.

"Are you alright?" I whisper towards Carl.

"Fine." he replies just as silently. "You?"

I simply nod my reply.

Across from us, I can see Glenn, Maggie, and Michonne behind a much larger passenger van. I can't see Rick, Jesus, Daryl, or Sasha however. Before I can mimic Carl and peak out to see what's going on, the gunfire resumes, making a distinctive shredding sound as the shots strike the other side of the vehicle Carl and I are behind. I duck and cover my head as the glass on the windows above me are shattered, sending shards of sharp glass scattering across the street. I carefully seize the handle of my sword and slide it out of his sheathe. I don't know how effective I'll be with this thing against gunfire like that, but I'm not the kind to just sit down and wait to be rescued. Once the fire stops again, I finally manage to peak around the corner and get a view of our attackers. Like us, they too are using abandoned vehicles for cover, but I can see a few of them. Though I don't know them by name, I recognize their faces from the factory.

They're Saviors.

The first shot from our side comes from somewhere outside the range of my vision. I can only presume it comes from Rick. I see the bullet strike the vehicle in which the majority of the Saviors are hiding behind. A sudden _BANG_ from right beside me suggests that Carl has taken his father's lead and joined in the gunfight. I recoil behind the front bumper of the vehicle again as the Saviors resume spraying rapid gunfire in our direction. At this point, we're pretty much at a stalemate. I grit my teeth in frustration. We were nearly home! Alexandria is literally just a few blocks away which means the community may be in just as much danger as we are. I don't get a chance to continue that line of thought, however.

Its a noise that always manages to cause my body to break out in goosebumps.

I first hear it during yet another cessation of the gunfire, like a growing sickness in the wind.

At first, its a faint howling, a sinister whisper with the cold winter air. Everyone else seems to hear it too, because the gunfire doesn't come again from either side. Across from us, I can see Glenn, Maggie, and Michonne tilting their heads as if trying to pinpoint where the noise is coming from. That's when the horrifying realization dawns on me.

Its all around us.

The loud gunfire must have drawn them from miles and miles around. The increased activity lately certainly would support that. The first group of walkers breaks through the threes behind Carl and I. Instinctively, I cover his back, raising my sword and lashing out with two fatal strikes. Around us, the gunfire again ignites, only this time, its not just aiming for us. Realization strikes me a second time as I see just how many walkers are pouring out of the surrounding neighborhoods from every conceivable direction. They're everywhere. In a way, this is worse than a single herd which is all lumped together. At least, with those, you can see every walker and can avoid them, so long as you keep your distance. Not with this group. Carl leaps up from his crouched position, taking shots at several new walkers that have emerged and dropping every last one.

"There are too many of them!" I yell over the gunfire towards Carl.

He turns to respond, but instead, we quickly dive behind the car again as a renewed spray of gunfire is sent across the dashboard of our metallic shield.

"Make a run for home!" I hear Rick shout from somewhere in the chaos.

That may be our best shot.

Home is only a few blocks away. If we bolt and make it there, we'll have walls and reinforcements. I look behind me at Carl, who has a spray of blackened walker blood staining his usually pale cheeks, and he nods his approval. Without waiting for any further clearance, the two of us keep our heads down as we take of sprinting for the vehicle where Glenn, Maggie, and Michonne are waiting for us. Reunited and unharmed, the five of us resume running down the street, doing our best to avoid gunfire even as we continue to put down walker after walker. In a way, the walkers are again helping us. The sheer number of them are keeping the gunfire aimed at us to a minimum.

Separated by the walkers, I can see Rick, Jesus, Daryl, and Sasha making their way in the same direction as us. I'm relieved to seem the all alive and together. We push through, shooting, or in Michonne and I's case, slashing our way through wave after wave of the horde of undead. Rick is the first to run out of ammo, switching to using his combat knife instinctively, which he wields quite masterfully against his cadaver foes. Slowly we push out way through the horde and finally are within sight of Alexandria's walls. The wall group, which I assume consists of Abraham and the others at the moment, spots us coming and immediately begins sending fire in the direction of our assailants both living and dead. As more and more walkers drop dead, the Saviors are able to shoot towards us more easily. Glenn, Maggie, and Daryl are able to pop off a few good shots at them, but our continued running prevents us from really putting a dent in their ambush.

"Get those gates open!" Rick roars up to Abraham as we get within shouting distance.

I hope he's quick.

We're trapped like rats with the closed gates at our back and a combination of hungry walkers and murderous Saviors in front of us. Once more we seek shelter behind anything that can act as a shield between ourselves and the Saviors' renewed effort to gun us down. The walkers, however, don't care much what we hide behind, so instead of being able to collect our thoughts and counterattack our assailants, we're too busy trying to fend off the walkers that stumble upon our hiding places. The situation looks bleak. For certain, luck is not on our side for this battle. Like music to my ears, I suddenly hear the sound of wood creaking as the semi-wood, semi-metal gates of our community begin to push open and the group begins to slowly back towards our soon-to-be escape route. For a split instant, relief sweeps over me as I'm sure we'll overwhelm our enemies once reinforcements come pouring through and we're able to resupply ourselves.

That relief is immediately dashed in the worst possible manner.

A gunshot rings out.

Among the torrent of other gunshots and the snarls of the walkers, it seems nearly impossible that I could pick out a single gunshot. This one however... this one has the potential to be life changing. Or, more appropriately... life shattering. I turn just in time to see the impact and too late to do anything about it. A geyser of warm blood sprays my already dirty face and hair, and my eyes widen in horror. Horror, not because there is fresh blood on me, and not because the Saviors are gunning at us with renewed vigor. Horror because the victim of this gunshot realizes my worst nightmare and the source of every worry I've had since this conflict began.

The victim is none other than Carl Grimes.

####

Carl staggers for a moment, almost as though he's waking up from some terrible dream.

The entire right side of his face, where his eye once was, is gone. His remaining blue eye meets my horrified look and he suddenly goes very, very, very pale.

"...Tanner?"

Its one word.

For all I know, its his last.

After uttering my name once, Carl's legs give out from under him, and he collapse. A burst of heat from deep within me ignites an inferno I'd long kept dormant. Reacting on pure instinct, and the training I'd received alongside Tara as a medic, I drop and catch Carl before he can hit the ground. I don't waste time checking his vitals. A shot to the head is almost always fatal so I have to get him medical attention _now_ or he is finished. Carl is like a limp noodle in my arms, allowing me to pick him up with ease... and then I run. Run like I've never run before. So fast that Rick and the others barely have time to register what has just transpired. The gates to the community are barely open wide enough to classify as an escape, but somehow I manage to punch through. I ignore the shouting. Ignore the gunshots still coming from outside the wall. I have one destination in mind and I'm not stopping until I get there.

Denise's house.

Denise Cloyd, the community's official resident doctor.

_Oh God..._

I have to hurry!

_Please..!_

"Hang in there, Carl!" I shout to him even though I know he can't hear me anymore. "Please just keep breathing!"

By the time I reach the street where Denise's house stands, hot tears are streaming down my face and streaking off into the air, blown away by the cold wind and the speed I'm using to reach my destination. I don't exercise any common courtesy. Upon reaching the door, I rear back, and kick with all my might, bursting through the front door, which slams violently against the inside wall. Denise herself bursts from a nearby hallway after hearing the noise.

"What the _hell_ is going on?!" she roars, still not seeing the situation unfolding before her.

"Carl!" I gasp through exhaustion and a steady stream of tears. "Carl was shot!"

Denise's eyes dart from myself to Carl immediately and his limp body hits her like a ton of bricks.

Like me, she has no time for sentiments. She juts acts.

"Bring him here, now!" she demands.

With the clock ticking, Denise leads me into a special room she had built quite awhile ago. Being the town's resident doctor, she felt it necessary to furnish a room where she could operate if necessary. Complete with a hospital bed, it is the only place I know of where Carl's life can be saved. And, at this moment, that is literally all that matters to me. As soon as I'm in the room, I carefully, yet quickly lay Carl's body in the bed. The expression frozen on his face is nothing but raw pain. My heart seizes in my chest. Carl is bleeding profusely and so we immediately leap to stop the bleeding.

"Can you save him?!" I plead between tears. "Will he live?!"

"I don't know." Denise replies solemnly, yet truthfully. "But I'm going to try. Where's Rick?"

In all the confusion, I didn't even register where Rick might be.

"Probably on his way." I confess. "I don't know if he saw what happened."

Denise nods.

"I need to work on him now if he wants a chance at life." she explains bluntly. "That's going to require an operation and its not going to be pretty. I know I'm asking a lot of you by saying this, but Tanner, you can't be here for this."

My heart stops.

"W-why n-n-not?" I stutter. "You trained me! I can help!"

"You're in no emotional state to help." she snaps even as she begins pulling out the equipment she'll need. "In your state of mind, you might accidentally hurt him. Now I'll do everything in my power to save his life, but you need to go!"

Tears spill out of my eyes even more freely as anger seeps into the sadness. My loved one, my significant other, my other half was shot and I couldn't protect him. And now, even though I have the training needed to help, I can't even assist Denise in saving his life. For a brief moment I remember the Saviors still outside gunning at our friends and family. The same Saviors that shot and may have killed Carl. A sudden, violent rage erupts from deep inside. Rage so powerful I can feel my very body shaking underneath its weight. Its as though a sleeping dragon has awakened in the depths of my soul. Heading Denise's plea and with one last look of longing towards Carl's mangled form, I dash from the room and head towards the still-open front door. Every step I take builds the hatred festering inside my heart. Bursting into the cold winter air, I can still hear the fighting going on in the distance, and so I bolt towards it.

I won't let those Saviors escape.

For what they've done...

...for what they've _all_ done, I'll kill them.

**_I'll kill them all!_**

One thing is for certain.

Jekyll is no more...

...Hyde has been unleashed.

* * *

**A/N: Whew... doosey of a chapter, eh? This scene has been anticipated by a few people ever since I was writing This Cruel Reality. I told them back then that if I did incorporate this scene, it would wait until this story was written. Initially, this scene was meant to happen much earlier, but I wanted to drag things out a bit. Make it a shock ;) Hope I did my job. The next chapter will be a big one for Tanner in terms of character development. He's never come _this _close to losing Carl before. They've been in some sticky situations before, but never like this. Will Carl survive this, and what will happen to Tanner as a result of this? Those are all up in the air. No spoilers! I have a plan and some more twists to introduce, so don't get comfortable just yet ;) All in all, though, I hope this was yet another enjoyable chapter for my readers. Thank you all for being so supportive of this story. I've enjoyed writing it and especially enjoyed having the readers be so involved and engaged :)**

**On to the reviews:**

**Youngblooded: Yay! I'm so happy to hear from you again! I'm so glad you think so! I'm doing my best to do both stories justice with this one. Glad you approve :) Good to hear from you again!**

**IamwhoIam987: Thank you! You're so kind! :) I hope you enjoyed this chapter just as much! Thank you for your review!**

**Obtained: Oh don't worry, Shiva the tiger will have some absolutely badass moments to come :D You shall enjoy those greatly. I don't think they will disapoint you at all hahaha**

**Guest: I'm so glad you asked that! The inspiration for This Cruel Reality came from the fact that Carl never really had a decent male friend. Three seasons and Sophia was the only one he really got close to and we all know how _that_ ended. In Season 4 there was Patrick, but Carl didn't seem all that close to him. Sure he mourned his death, but nothing like he did with Sophia. After seeing the mid-season premiere of Season 4, I was inspired to write a story about Carl meeting someone while his dad was passed out in that neighborhood and the two becoming quite close. I'd been wanting to do a story about Carl and Michonne's growing friendship for sometime, so this allowed me to accomplish both of those goals and This Cruel Reality is what resulted from that. This story, the sequel, however, was inspired about midway through writing This Cruel Reality. I'd been reading the comics and such and had the thought, "What would happen to Tanner and Carl after Terminus. Would they settle down, would something happen to them?" And so I deviated from my plan to kill Tanner at the end of This Cruel Reality and decided upon a sequel to show their life closer to adulthood. Thank you so much for that question! :)**

**tentails: Good to hear! Negan definitely has nothing good planned! That much I promise! Stay tuned to see what he's up to :)**

**Thank you guys so much for your reviews! Keep 'em coming! I'm loving them! :)**

**Until the next one, folks.**

**Later!**


	15. Soaring Hope

"_If you give me wings,_  
_I will soar for you._

_Even if this whole land,_  
_sinks into water._

_If you give me a sword,_  
_I will fight for you._

_Even if this whole sky,_  
_is shot through with your light._"

— Tite Kubo_  
_

* * *

The tears won't stop flowing.

The frigid wind is caustic against the patches of my cheeks left sensitive by the salty stream of tears streaking across them. The echoes of my feet pounding the pavement as I continue to run towards where the gunfight is still unfolding. The sound of gunshots ring out loudly throughout the streets. There isn't a proper word to describe the feelings going through my head. Unbearable rage is only being tempered by the tremendous sorrow currently racking my heart. As I round the street corner, bringing the gates of Alexandria once more into sight, my mind is pulled into a very powerful flashback; taking me back three years to the month after Terminus that my group spent on the road, prior to finding out about Alexandria.

That place seems so distant.

A time in which Carl and I were just boyfriends in love.

Eons ago, in terms of time, and yet, now it is all coming back to me as though it had just happened yesterday...

####

_I pull my sword free of a walker's skull, causing it to make a sickening, bloody sloshing noise as it comes free._

_The pack of walkers we had just killed was at least several dozen corpses strong. Rick had taken Daryl and Glenn ahead to scout out the town ahead of us. The last thing we wanted was to run into a massive herd while traveling through the town and then get trapped as a result. This leaves the rest of us to clean ourselves up and rest while they continue their hunt. We're all on guard. Even though we've long since left Georgia, Terminus is still fresh on everyone's mind. No one wants to be caught off guard by yet another group of roaming maniacs.  
_

_Using one of our water bottles, I rinse the bloody muck from the walkers off of my face in an attempt to feel at least somewhat clean. I then cross the roadside to the guardrail in which Carl is sitting on, his baby sister Judith perched quite happily in his lap. Like me, he has walker blood stains on his cheeks, but in contrast, he has made very little effort to clean them off. He sees me coming and offers me a warm smile from underneath the shade of his trademark sheriff's hat, scooting over just a little bit to allow me to take a seat next to the two of them. Having seen my approach, Judith coos rather cutely at me. The infant Grimes has become quite attached to me in the short time we've known each other. Carl in particular takes a great liking to this. He seems quite overjoyed that Judith and I, despite the fact that she's an infant, have really hit it off._

_"Do you remember when your brother and sister were this little?"_

_This is the third time._

_After Carl had reunited with Judith, I'd finally told him about my own siblings. My brother Mike and sister Anna. Ever since I'd told her about them, he's been occasionally asking about them. Admittedly, I've been avoiding indulging his requests for more information. Remembering my siblings isn't exactly an easy thing to do. Even so, I feel bad for dodging him so much. After all, he had talked to me about Judith all the time when he had still thought she was dead. Back before Carol and Tyreese had reunited the Grimes family. _

_Then why? _

_Why does my stomach churn with regret and sorrow?_

_Why does my mind spin?_

_Anytime I try to speak about them, the same thing happens. But I know, in my heart of hearts, that it'll never get better if I don't try. I can trust Carl with that information. After all, if I can't trust him, then there really is no one left that I can truly trust. _

_"No." I finally reply to him. "I was three when Mike was born. Five with Anna. I remember them being young, but, not as young as Judith."_

_Carl's entire demeanor lights up._

_Other than telling him I even had siblings to begin with, this is the first time I've really ever given him any other information about them. Perhaps he senses that I'm starting to let him into that part of my life, now, as well. The last vestiges of my life that he has little to no knowledge about. And, as usual with confessions, once you start, you can hardly stop yourself from continuing to spill your guts. So that's what I do..._

_"The three of us were so radically different from each other." I explain to him. "I was a loner. A geek by some definitions. Not very well liked in school. But I was okay with that. Mike, however, he was popular. Had tons of friends, girlfriends, you name it, even for his age. Not to mention he was outgoing. And Anna..." recalling my baby sister always causes me to pause and hold back the tears stinging at the back of my eyes. "Anna was a big ball of energy. Very kind and outgoing. Lots of friends too. We were closer than my brother and I. When she was five, making me around ten, I saved her from drowning during a family trip to the lake. We were close ever since."_

_Throughout my explanation, Carl waits patiently for me to get it all out._

_I suppose, by now, he knows just how painful loss of family members can be. In his lap, Judith makes a childish coo and burps cutely, briefly distracting us from the rather serious turn the conversation has taken. _

_"Do you still miss them?"_

_Carl's tone is serious and, if I didn't know better, somewhat depressed. He stares ahead of us, at the bloodstained concrete of the road ahead. I can see the pain hiding just behind his azure eyes. He's never been very good at hiding it from me, though he is pretty good at not reacting to it as openly as I tend to do. Returning my thoughts to his question, I lower my own head as the memories all come flooding back like the waters of a tsunami breaking the levies._

_"Yeah..." I finally mutter. "Every day."_

_He nods solemnly, "I still miss Mom too." he confesses. "Think we'll ever move on?"_

_I turn and look him right in the eyes._

_He's serious, as usual. Carl's questions always have meaning. Especially in this context._

_"I don't know." I reply to him honestly. "But, no matter what, you have me." I give him a soft smile and wrap my arm around his waist. "Always."_

_Those words seem to bring some color back to Carl's pale complexion._

_He doesn't look at me, but even so, a small, brief smile touches the corners of his lips._

_"Yeah..." he replies. "And you have me too."_

####

My family...

Mom, Dad, Mike, Anna... they're all gone..

Carl is my last _true_ family.

_Oh God..._

The gate is closing in. Each frantic step brings me closer and closer to my destination. My grip instinctively tightens around the handle of my sword as I prepare to fly into combat.

_Please...! _

I can hear the gunshots getting louder. I can see the lurching figures of the walkers still filling the streets where the fighting is taking place. Where the bastards who shot Carl are apparently still fighting.

_Please let him live!_

Hand still on the handle of my long, sharp weapon, I quickly pull the sword from its sheathe. Its all I can do just to blink back tears as I resume my charge towards the ongoing fighting.

_Please... he's all I have left..._

Whirling.

The blade of my weapon catches the sun's harsh light, casting a blinding glint as I leap through the open threshold of Alexandria's gates, back into the fray I'd left just moments ago. The combination of my powerful memories just a few moments ago, combining with the grief and hatred welling up inside of me, begins to finally come to a boiling point. It feels like a heated pressure building within my abdomen, which then begins to rise through my chest, and then even higher. All at once, it explodes out of me as my sword connects with the first walker I come into contact with. An explosion of walker blood and entrails rains down on me as I repeat this with cadaver after cadaver. Before I can get a true grasp on my position, I feel someone back their back into my own. A lock of raven black hair sweeps just by my field of vision and I immediately know who I'm back-to-back with.

"What happened?" Michonne asks as she frantically decapitates yet another walking corpse. "Is Carl okay?"

The tears are still blinding me.

All I can make out are the grey, decayed outlines of the enemy as I continue to slash through their reanimated corpses in anguish and rage.

"He got shot." I reply bluntly.

A blast of gunfire deals with several of the walkers around me and I quickly trace the source to Abraham. He and Rosita have resumed their positions atop the walls, sniping down any walker that comes too close to one of our people.

"Where are those bastards?" I question Michonne coldly. "The Saviors."

"They retreated." Michonne replies.

My blood boils.

_They got away..._

"Go find Rick." Michonne instructs me.

I simply flash her a confused, yet serious glance. Is she serious?

"He needs to know what's happened." she elaborates. "Go. I'll cover you."

"After this!" I shout back at her. "I won't leave you! I'm sick of watching people die! Tyreese! Tara! Maybe Carl! I won't just sit back and take it anymore! Rick will have to wait until these monsters are dealt with. I won't let anyone else get killed!"

Michonne doesn't question me any further after that. The following moments seem to consume an eternity's worth of time. In reality, only about ten minutes pass as we all slaughter the thinning herd of walkers around our home. When it is finally over, I am standing knee high in a pile of rotting corpses. It seems that everyone around me is standing in similar conditions. There are so many walker bodies littering the ground, it is becoming impossible to to see the pavement of the road in certain places. We're all practically covered in walker blood and gore. My chest and arms burn from the intense workout, my breath coming in labored gasps, and yet, I can still only think about Carl.

"Is everyone alright?" Rick's own weakened voice comes.

I suppose its now or never.

Its time for Rick to find out what's happened.

"Not everyone, Rick..." I reply solemnly.

Rick Grimes freezes. That motion alone confirms that, in all of the chaos, he had neither see Carl get shot, nor seen me run from the area to get him to medical care. The elder Grimes scans the remaining survivors, frantically searching for his son. Each time he scans, his expression becomes more labored and pained. Realization, like the cruel mistress it is, slowly dawns on him and his panicked expression hits me like an avalanche.

"Where's Carl?" Rick's voice cracks with emotion.

Rick's display of emotion slams into my own festering sorrow, causing tears again to spill from their ducts and down my cheeks.

"Denise..." is the only word I manage to choke out of my mouth.

Then we're both running...

####

Carl Grimes is completely motionless on the makeshift hospital bed in Denise Cloyd's small home.

Were it not for his, albeit shallow, chest rising and falling in time with his labored breathing, it'd be hard to tell him apart from a fresh corpse. When Rick had first seen him, the community leader had completely fallen apart in a manner I'd only seen him do once before; when he'd reunited with his youngest child, Judith, years ago. In the short time since I'd last been here, Denise has finally managed to stop his excessive bleeding and bandage the excruciating injury to the right side of Carl's head. Now the guy I love is laying motionless and pale in a deep coma. Denise also managed to hook him up to an IV, which at least will keep his fluid levels up while he is unconscious. Rick has taken to pacing back and forth near the entrance to the room, while I sit directly next to Carl, lightly cradling his limp hand in my own. In some small way, I hope he knows I'm sitting here with him. Even if he can't respond, I want him to know that. The door to the room suddenly is thrown open and Denise strolls through, trapping our attentions on her.

"Well?" Rick asks worriedly.

The bespectacled woman sighs, taking a sip out of the coffee mug in her right hand, before giving me a brief glance.

"This is the truth." she says lowly. "He's stable for the moment. He's in a coma and I have no way of knowing if the damage to his brain will keep him that way."

"...What?" I gasp incredulously. "He won't wake up?"

Denise affords me a compassionate look.

"I didn't say that." she replies truthfully. "I just don't know. He could wake up and be fine, or he could wake up and be very severely impaired... or... he could just not wake up at all."

"Is there anything we can do?" Rick interjects, mirroring my line of thought.

Denise shakes her head wearily.

"Afraid not." she says. "At this point, its all up to Carl. He's a fighter so, in my opinion, he's got a good chance. But that's far from a guarantee."

"Thank you." Rick responds. "I know you're doing your best.

Denise simply nods with understanding and agreement, "I'll let you two alone for now. Let me know if anything changes."

The curly-headed doctor turns and exits the room, shutting the door sharply behind her, finally leaving Rick and I alone to our thoughts. The silence that replaces the conversation is suffocating. The anxiety invading my heart feels like there is an entire ocean crushing down on top of my chest. Even though Denise is hopeful that Carl will make it, the possibility of him never waking up terrifies me. I feel completely miserable. My own body feels like its finally crumbling under the weight of the recent events that have plagued our lives. Now all I can seem to do is helplessly hold on to Carl's hand and silently beg the heavens to give him another chance. I become so enraptured in watching Carl sleep, I fail to notice Rick approaching me from the side until he reaches down and places his large burly hand gently on top of the spot where my hand wraps around Carl's, effectively touching both our hands at once. The sudden touch jolts me from my daze, causing me to jump slightly, until I see that it is Rick.

"Thank you, as well." the elder Grimes practically whispers to me.

I grit my teeth hard.

"Thank you for what?" I reply more venomously than intended. "I failed him. He was right next to me and...-"

The urge to cry is becoming too much to resist. I bite down forcefully on my lower lip to force the urge to subside. As if the images of Tara's death trapped in my head weren't tormenting enough, now I can mentally recall every gruesome detail about seeing Carl take a bullet to his head. His own blood had sprayed across my face. If I think about it hard enough, I can still feel the warm ooze of the crimson fluid dripping down my cheek. Well, that is simply too much for me. At first a single tear escapes their ducts. Then two. My body heaves in response to this, but I remain defiant, fighting back the absolutely agonizing pain racking my chest.

"And don't tell me it wasn't my fault." I continue, making a horrid sobbing noise. "It was my job to protect him! Mine!"

I find it hard to control my rapidly rising voice.

The result of the anger, grief, and remorse I feel swelling inside of me is finally finding its escape. Were I in my right mind, I'd probably be surprised that Rick is so patiently waiting for me to get it all of my chest. In a sort of odd way, its a lot like what Carl does when I get upset, or what I do when he is in a similar situation. Whatever the reason, I pay it no heed and simply keep shouting.

"What good am I if I can't help anyone I love?! Tara is _dead_ and my finger was on the trigger!" I sob. "And now... now, if I lose him, I'd... I'd just...-"_  
_

"Go crazy?" Rick interjects in his thick Georgian accent, stopping me dead in my rant. "Feel like you just want to kill something, anything? Maybe even like you're gonna die?"

Okay, he's got my attention.

My tears feel as though they're the temperature of the sun, but I manage to get a grip on myself long enough to hear him out.

"That's how I felt when Lori died." he goes on. "Helpless. _I _was her husband. My job was to keep her, Carl, and the baby safe and I failed her."

Rick looks up from the floor, his eyes, the same vibrant cobalt as Carl's, meeting with my more murky blue eyes; locking us into an intense staring match. For an instant, Rick Grimes looks as old as he feels. Its just a glimpse, as though my similar situation to his has somehow granted me a momentary snapshot into the man's walled-up heart. For the first time, I can see all of the pain and burden Rick Grimes has etched into the very lines of the wrinkles on his face. I can see the weariness in his eyes and once more I find myself humbled by the fact that Rick is infinitely more wise than I, having experienced much of what I've been going through, at least to the point where he can relate to me.

"I still live with the guilt of that."

I look down at the ground in shame.

Shame because I am beginning to fear having to live with the same guilt. My heart aches terribly. Five years ago, when the outbreak began, living on my own and depending on no one but myself was a simple task. Not only was it simple, but it was how I survived and got by. Meeting Carl taught me as much about relying on your friends and loved ones, as much as his meeting me taught him the exact same lesson. Now, to have to ponder having that bond cut, and suddenly feeling alone again, is simply unbearable. My heart is begging him not to leave me. They say that you always find the strength to press on after a loss. That is true to an extent. Because I have Carl, I am able to cope with Tara's death. Some moments are better than others, but I always knew he would be there to help me along. That is now threatened, which causes me to believe that maybe I won't make it if something happens to him.

I certainly can't see myself getting very far.

"But you have nothing to feel guilty for."

Rick's voice rouses me from my thoughts and I glance up from the floor and meet his gaze once again.

"What do we do now?"

This question has come up a few times since Negan's first appearance.

"We rebuild. The walkers are manageable." Rick replies. "Its the Saviors we have to worry about. We've worked so hard to make this place work. Three years. I'm not about to let them take that away from us. This is _our_ home now. We'll clean it up, repair the damage, and then... we carry on."

"And what about Negan?"

"We'll do what we've always done. Stand our ground and fight." he explains. "We made a mistake. We were much too worried about the walkers. It's almost like we'd forgotten Terminus. The Governor. We let people catch us off guard again and it cost us, but no more. We have numbers now. With Jesus and Ezekiel, we're sure to take back what's ours. We'll _crush_ them."

The enthusiasm in Rick's voice takes me back.

Given the circumstances, I had figured he'd be just as solemn as me, but he's not. I take my eyes off of Rick for a moment, glancing over at Carl. Carl hasn't moved an inch since we've been in the room with him. The most movement he's done is the rising and falling of his chest during his labored breathing. He's so pale, hair in a messy mop spread out on the pillow, and laying there like this, he looks so fragile. Its amazing that someone as strong as Carl has, in the blink of an eye, been brought to his knees and is now clinging to dear life as a result. It absolutely breaks my heart.

"You let me worry about Negan." Rick says softly.

"I can't let him get away with this, Rick." I reply sternly.

"We won't. But you're no good to us exhausted and depressed." Rick lectures me bluntly. "You haven't rested in days. Leave it to me to take care of things with the Saviors. Stay here and watch after Carl for me."

He doesn't have to ask me that twice.

While sleep is certainly out of the question for me while Carl is so badly hurt, I don't mind staying here with him and getting some rest. Rick suddenly stands and begins to walk in the direction Denise went; towards the door to the small makeshift hospital room. He stops short of leaving the room, hand firmly grasping the knob as though a thought had stopped him in his tracks.

"Whatever you do." he speaks to me again. "Don't lose your hope."

Hope.

Now there's a word I haven't heard in awhile.

Before I can ask him anything more, Rick twists the knob, pulls open the door and exits; leaving me alone with my unconscious Carl.

####

Hope.

Hours have passed since Rick spoke that word to me and yet it continues to echo inside my head. Night has fallen. Denise had brought me blankets and a pillow, her way of granting me her blessing to remain here with Carl overnight despite the fact that this is her home. Carl's condition, so far, has neither improved nor worsened. He continues to snooze, almost peacefully, while I continue to be wracked by turmoil. It really is a terrible combination. My body aches from a combination of exhaustion and anxiety. My mind makes laps around itself as it tries to sort out the day's events. Most prominently, however, is the pit of seemingly endless dread that I feel in my stomach. Like a void that has been opened and can never be closed.

The more I sit here and sulk, the more angry I become with myself. When I was shot in Terminus and was down for the count, Carl got off of his ass, stormed by to Terminus with the others and took care of business. I'm convinced he'd be disappointing in me if I just sit here and do nothing, but there is nothing I can do. Rick is right. I'm much to exhausted and emotionally spent to be any use to the others. At least for the present moment.

So what can I do?

There must be something.

Something I can do to make this up to Carl and the others.

_"Don't lose your hope."_

Hope.

I can't lose my...

But... what is there to hope in? To hope for?

Peace is out of the question. I can't hope for that. War is on the way and is rightfully deserved. Negan and his Saviors need to be wiped away so that the communities can begin to rebuild and move on. I can't hope that nobody else gets hurt, or worse, dies. Two have already died and there is likely to be more casualties on the way with the impending fighting. So how can Rick expect me to be hopeful? Nothing about our predicament is hopeful. In fact, quite the opposite, it looks hope_less._ My eyes drift upward, again falling Carl whom I watch for several moments.

And then it hits me.

Carl.

I can hope for him.

Denise said there was a chance. Rick believes in his son enough to leave me here to watch him. If that's the case, then I'll place my hope in that. Its rather fitting. Carl who has become my everything has now become the last thing I can truly hope for. That realization brings about another: If Carl survives and lives, it will be a crushing blow to the Saviors, who would've failed for the third time to kill Rick's oldest child and it would act as hopeful symbol to the rest of the community. A symbol that tells them we can do this, no matter how hard things get or seem. I lift my hand out of my own lap, reach across the hospital bed to take Carl's limp hand into my own. There is no response that he recognizes I'm here.

No twitch.

No groan.

Not even so much as sigh.

Carl simply lays there, breathing shallowly, pale as a ghost. As I continue this line of thought and watch him sleep, I feel my confidence slowly coming back to me. That's the amazing effect Carl has on me, even now. Like a torch who offers its flame to keep the fire alive, the sheer fact that Carl actually survived the initial injury inspires me to believe in him more. If anyone can live through this, its Carl Grimes, the guy I love more than anything. The thought brings the faintest smile to my lips. The first genuine smile I've had since the wall.

"I'm sorry, Carl." I whisper to him, though I know he probably can't hear me. I gently squeeze his hand for emphasis. "I let myself sulk and almost forgot what really matters. Your dad is right. This is our home now. We have to defend it from these thugs. We can deal with the walkers. They're no real issue. We can clean the place up. We can rebuild. I've spent so much time worrying these past few days, I lost sight of the fact that we still have our friends around us. Mich and the others. I don't think Tara would want me to sulk like this. You were trying to tell me that earlier. Trying to tell me just to let it go and focus on what's important, but I didn't listen to you. I'm sorry for that."

I pause, lifting my hand from his hand and placing it gently on the curve of his left cheek; stroking it softly like he always likes.

"Well, I'm listening now." I go on. "You rest as much as you need, get your strength back, and when you're ready... please come back to me. I'm not ready to let you go. I'm selfish like that. So please be the fighter you always have been and I'll be right here by your side. When you wake up, we'll overcome this together, just like everything else."

That all said, I finally stand up and lean over to kiss him lightly on the cheek.

At the edge of the room is a small sofa where I make my bed for the night. Its not nearly as nice as the bed Carl and I share back home, but there is no way I'm going back there with him here. So, that being said, I make do with my accommodations, wrapping myself tightly within the blanket Denise gifted me with. The exhaustion of the past couple of days hits me like a massive mudslide, leaving me fighting to stay awake just a few more moments. I roll over, so that I'm facing Carl's direction, just in case anything happens during the night, and lightly whisper;

"I love you..."

And then sleep takes me.

* * *

**A/N: That's a feelsy way to end a chapter, eh? This was a pretty full chapter for me to write, but I hope you guys enjoyed it. For those of you who have been wondering or asking about Tanner's family, that flashback is an allusion to This Cruel Reality, the first story. Those of you who have read it will recall Tanner saying they ran into a while they were still on their journey North, and that is where that flashback took place in. We also got a bit more out of Tanner about his family in that scene, which was the point. From the looks of it, Carl is going to be down and out for awhile, wouldn't you say? You'll see some important growth between he and Tanner soon. This event, as you may guess, will affect them rather significantly. Anyways, like I said, I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter as much as I did writing it :) Sorry it took a little longer, but my job kept me rather busy this week. Review, comment, favorite, and follow!**

**Review time!**

**IamwhoIam987: That was the intended reaction! Hahaha xD Sorry for leaving you so frustrated, but I'm glad you enjoyed that chapter so much! Hope you enjoyed this one too :) Thanks for the review!**

**Guest: Thank you! :) I am absolutely not afraid of tragedy, you're right. I feel that it adds more tension and development to the characters and the plot. Life is not always happy, and neither is romance, so while I do enjoy writing tender moments between Tanner and Carl, I really want to emphasize the environment that they live in his hostile and I try to show that by actively looking for newer, more terrifying situations to put them in. You'll notice that its when they're in their darkest moments that their love for one another shines through the most, which is what I love to write. Thanks for the review :)**

**Obtained: Well, you know me xD I always like to send my readers on a feels trip hahaha**

**Thank you all so much :)**

**Looking forward to seeing you with the next chapter! It'll be an interestin' one!**

**Until the next one!**

**Later!**


	16. I'll Kill Him Myself!

Water ripples gracefully as a stone skips across its surface, sloshing into the river midway across.

The roaring Potomac River has become a retreat for me in the years since I've arrived in Alexandria. A place where I can simply get lost in the sound of its roaring rapids. At the present moment, Denise is doing her morning check-up on Carl, so I've slipped out to get some fresh air. Its been two days since Carl was shot. Two long, agonizing days, during which time Carl hasn't even so much as moved once. Exhaustion has turned into anxiety and anxiety into despair. Every moment longer that he's asleep, my own mentality sinks further downwards. By coming here to the river, no matter how brief, I'll gain a moment of clarity and manage to recover some of my sullied resolve.

Once again, I pick up a nearby stone from the riverbank, rear back and toss the smoothed rock across the surface of the river. The stone skips three times before sinking into the depths again. Behind me, the sound of boots crunching the frozen morning grass catches my attention, stopping me from continuing my almost ritualistic stone throwing in order to turn to see who is approaching. Clad in a tightly wrapped brown coat is Michonne, who carefully makes her way down the steep embankment ,her breath coming in puffs of visible wisps, due to the frigid morning temperatures. The samurai's black dreadlocks billow wildly in the morning wind, a wind that causes me to flinch as it stings my cheeks with caustic licks.

"How is he?" her calm voice erodes away the anguish in my heart.

Michonne may be the only other person, aside from Carl, that can calm my raging soul so easily.

"I don't know."

I hate those words.

The very definition of uncertainty in three words. Even after two days, I am no more certain of what Carl's fate will be, than I was the moment it happened. Even after three years of knowing her, and despite the fact that she's the closest thing to an older sibling I've ever had, Michonne is still a woman of few words; even around me. She initially doesn't respond to my uncertainty, merely pursing her lips while looking out over the glimmering surface of the river. Her hands are casually tucked away in her jacket pocket, keeping them out of the biting cold air, and for the longest time, we stay this way. Basking in the other's company, while lost among our own thoughts.

"How are you?" she says after sometime, slightly modifying her original question.

"Cold." I reply without hesitation, bringing a light smirk to her lips.

"Witty as always." she replies. "I'm glad all of this hasn't taken that from you."

A moment of silence passes between us before I speak again.

"I'm trying, Mich." I confess to her. "Trying to be strong. To keep my head up."

"That's what he'd want." she replies bluntly.

I know that.

I know Carl well enough, by now, to know that he wouldn't want me sulking for any reason; especially where it concerns him. It doesn't stop me from worrying, though, and I think Michonne knows this. She knows what it is like to lose the people closest to you. It happened to her twice, after all. Though I'm looking down at my feet, I see her shadow move, and before I can properly react, Michonne surprises me by wrapping me in a firm hug. Michonne isn't exactly a hugger by nature, and won't embrace just anyone. In the three years I've known her, I've only seen her hug Carl once and that was years ago. Despite this, I'm not about to complain. I need this. I melt into her embrace and loosely wrap my arms around her waist. Before I know it, I've tightened my own grip on her, and then I can't hold it back any longer. For two long days I've resisted the urge to cry.

Now the floodgates have been blown wide open.

I have to hand it to Michonne. She doesn't let go of me as I completely fall apart. My heart burns as I sob violently into her chest, my entire body quaking with the weight of the pain it is experiencing. In that moment, I allow myself to think all of the thoughts that I have been holding back these past few days. How will I ever make it through this hellhole of a life without my Carl? It simply isn't fair that he's the one hurting and I'm okay. I was in that battle too! Why can't I ever protect him when he needs me most? All those thoughts and more slam through my tired mind, which only causes me to sob harder. I lose track of the time shortly thereafter, until, eventually, I finally get it all out of me and begin to calm down.

Michonne's patience seems to be a bottomless pit.

"Did that help?"

"A little." I admit, wiping away some of the remaining tears. "Sorry, Mich."

"Don't be." she is quick to reply. "All of us have moments like that these days."

"Even you?"

She smirks, "Even me." she then lightly pats my shoulder. "Come on, let's go see him."

####

By the time I return to Denise's house, where Carl is being kept, she has finished checking him over. Regardless, Carl is still in the same state I left him in; still in the same position, pale, and motionless aside from his breathing. Denise has him hooked up to a multitude of machines. Its moments like this that I am deeply grateful that Alexandria still has some form of electricity. It may not work all of the time, but in times of dire need, like this, it is immensely helpful. Michonne hangs back towards the doorway, allowing me my space, even though I don't mind her presence one bit. Being with her is the first time I've felt even remotely human since Carl was shot days ago. After a final once over, Denise lets out a sigh and then turns to face the both of us.

"Well, his heart rate is normal, strong even. All his vitals are where they're supposed to be. He's doing better." she explains.

"Does that mean he'll wake up soon?"

I realize, by now, that I sound like a lonely puppy, but I hate seeing Carl like this. Two days have passed and I haven't even been able to hear his voice. The stress that has caused me cannot be properly put into words. And, while I'm glad that Carl is seemingly stable, I'm anxious to have him conscious and speaking to me again. Denise is a master doctor, even despite the condition of the world, however, and has mastered the art of the poker face. If she believes one way or another, her facial expression doesn't reveal it. I suppose that is to prevent me from getting my hopes up, only for things to take a sudden dive for the worse, but I do wish she'd smile and tell me everything is going to be alright.

I'd kill to hear those words about now.

Instead, the curly-haired doctor adjusts her spectacles and glances out of the corner of her eyes at me.

"I can't say." she admits. "I'm still not certain just how much damage that bullet did to his brain. I'm a doctor, not a brain surgeon. Our brains don't stop developing until well into our twenties. Carl is still young enough that he might be able to avoid any major damage, but again, I can't be certain. I'll give you this: I'm more optimistic than I was when you first brought him to me, but we still need more time. _He_ needs more time."

I hang my head in defeat.

That's not what I wanted to hear, but at least she's being honest with me. Denise crosses the short distance between us and lays a friendly hand on my shoulder, giving a gentle pat before she heads towards the door to the room.

"Take all the time that you need, Tanner." she consoles me. "You know where to find me if something changes."

Denise leaves Michonne and I with Carl, slamming the door shut behind her as she goes. Michonne immediately takes that as a cue to step forward and join me closer to Carl's bed. Beside him, the machines she has him hooked up to are making all kinds of electrical beeps and hums as they continue to monitor his comatose state. The rhythmic sounds are almost hypnotizing, but a question at the edge of my mind edges me out of it.

"Where's Rick?"

Michonne looks up, startled out of the trance she herself had been in.

"At the wall, I think." she replies. "We're supposed to be getting word from Ezekiel any day now. We'll make our move then."

My eyes narrow at this.

"I should go with you guys." I declare confidently. In fact, the sheer conviction in my voice shocks even me.

"Not yet." Michonne argues bluntly. "Take your time, Tanner. Being hellbent on revenge won't help Carl."

Her words sting but I know she's right.

I make no effort to hide my still-festering hatred for the Saviors. It was already powerful due to Tyreese and Tara's deaths. After what happened to Carl, though, the rage hiding in my heart is almost crippling. It whispers to me, egging me on, telling me I should be out there with the others; fighting the Saviors. I know better, though. My place is here with Carl, even though I despise just how helpless I am in this entire ordeal.

"I know its tough." she continues. "But you can't be everywhere at once. You're needed here. There's nothing wrong with that. Its a hard lesson to learn, I know, but its the truth."

I nod in agreement.

"Come on." she beckons to me softly. "You haven't been home in days. Let's go and get something to-"

"Ugh..."

I freeze.

I know I hadn't made that noise. Michonne was in the middle of a sentence, so it couldn't be her either. Glancing at Carl, he doesn't seem to have moved at all. Was I just hearing things? But no, Michonne had reacted too! I turn back to her to find her staring back at me with a mixture of bewilderment and confusion. I'm just about to open my mouth to ask her what she had heard, hoping that I wasn't just going crazy, when a second groan echoes through the room. I turn quickly back towards Carl's bed and, for the first time in two days, see him move on his own. Its a slight movement, his arm lazily coming up towards his head. Right towards where his head is bandaged. He flinches, almost as though the touch stings him.

"Go get Denise!" I shout excitedly at Michonne, who is already halfway out the door.

I, however, am not about to wait.

I rush to Carl's side and immediately grasp his raised hand. He keeps clumsily reaching for the bandaged portion of his head and I'm afraid he'll injure himself further if he messes with it, so I simply hold his hand firmly. His skin, which was once icy cold to the touch, is now beginning to heat again, warming the tender skin of my palm. Carl seems confused by his sudden inability to move his hand and sleepily scowls in frustration.

"Don't touch it, Carl." I instruct him, hoping he'll understand. "You don't want to hurt yourself."

My voice seems to have an effect on him.

Carl immediately stops struggling with me and relaxes, his hand going limp in mine. For a single horrifying moment, I entertain the possibility that he's slipped back away into his coma, but before I can call out to him to see, Denise and Michonne bust back into the room. Denise hurriedly crosses the room to examine the monitors beside Carl's bed and then turns her attention directly to him.

"Has he said anything?" she asks me, excitement in her voice.

I shake my head.

"Nothing but groaning." I reply. "Is he going to be okay?"

Denise opens her mouth to answer, but isn't given the chance.

"D-D... Dad?" Carl's voice is raspy and weak. "Tan-... Tanner?"

Melting is no longer an accurate description of what my heart does when I hear him speak. It is virtually doing back flips in my chest cavity and I immediately break out into nervous laughter. It feels so fucking good to hear my Carl's voice again.

"I'm here, Carl." I speak to him soothingly, gripping his hand for emphasis. "Right here."

"I'll go get Rick." Michonne announces from somewhere behind me.

Carl's body suddenly tenses. It dawns on me that he is attempting to sit up. He strains himself too much however and gasps sharply in pain, before dropping back down into the bedding.

"Careful!" Denise exclaims. "Don't overdo it, Carl! You'll hurt yourself even more."

Carl winces sharply until the pain subsides.

"W-where am I?" he asks weakly through pained gasps. "What happened to me?"

"You're in Denise's house, Carl." I inform him. "You were shot two days ago."

"Shot?"

Carl's remaining cobalt eye flutters open for the first time, searching the room for the source of the voices he's been answering to. It quickly becomes apparent to me that he's still confused on exactly where he's at. The more and more I watch him, the more I realize that he is becoming frightened. Very frightened. I imagine waking up after two days, being in a strange home, and being told you've been shot, would be very frightening. Another gentle squeeze of his hand to comfort him brings his eye to me and, for the first time in two days, we lock gazes. Carl studies me for a moment, the fear that was briefly present in his remaining eye slowly begins to fade, as if seeing me is helping him put all the pieces of his fragmented memory and thought process back together.

"I was... shot?" he repeats.

Another weak wince, as if a sudden stabbing pain has entered his head.

"I-it..." Carl stammers. "It hurts, Tanner."

I let go of my restraints.

Careful, so that I do not harm him, I lean over Carl and wrap my arms around his bare torso. His skin is only slightly warm to the touch and is predominately clammy. I manage to wrap him into a loose hug, which he slowly and carefully returns. At that point, for the second time today, I lose it. Tears are forming in my eyes before I even have a chance to fight them off. My heart aches that he's hurting, but at the same time, its euphoric that he's alive and awake. Pain will fade in time, but I can never replace him.

Never.

"Everything is going to be okay now." I soothe him. "I promise."

####

Nightfall.

Per Denise's instruction, Carl is to remain here overnight so that she can monitor his behavior in light of his head trauma. As soon as he had heard Carl had awoken, Rick had rushed straight over with Judith and has been here, along with Michonne, ever since. A single lamp lights Carl's makeshift hospital room, casting a soothing, homey glow across the room. Situated in two chairs directly across from Carl's bed, Rick and Michonne take turns trying to get Judith to eat with varying degrees of success. The infant Grimes is particularly fussy this evening, making for a comical situation to behold as Rick attempts to feed his young daughter. I have perched myself in a chair directly next to Carl's bed, arms crossed across the top of my chair, head leaning gently against my folded arms as I watch their repeated attempts. Beside me, Carl is also eating some sort of soup. Two days in a coma has brought his appetite back with a vengeance and now he's pretty much scarfing down everything he can get his hands onto. I can't help the light smile that touches my lips. Carl hasn't said a whole lot since he woke back up, but just seeing him awake, eating, and knowing he's alive is enough to warm my chest. Glancing across the room at Rick, Judith, and Michonne, the warming in my chest intensifies.

Family.

_My family..._

_Why can't it always be like this? No walkers. No Saviors. _

_Just..._

..._us._

A sudden warmth touching my skin violently snaps me out of my daydream. I hadn't noticed Michonne get up from her spot and cross the room. The source of the heat is then revealed: a still-hot bowel of soup, identical to the kind Carl is still hungrily wolfing down beside me. It takes me a few moments to gather her intentions.

"You should eat." she says. "You've barely eaten anything these past two days."

I look down once again at the bowl of heated broth.

Michonne speaks the truth. I haven't had much of an appetite ever since Carl was hurt. I'm still not exactly hungry, but I decide to make an effort and take the bowel from her. My attention is drawn away from the food I have just been handed as Rick stands with Judith. The elder Grimes crosses the room towards Carl, bending down to give his oldest child a loving peck on the head. Carl says nothing, only acknowledging his father's affection with a slight nod. Its unusual for him to be this quiet, but considering what he's been put through, I suppose its not too strange.

"We're gonna head back." Rick announces. "Its getting late. Gotta put Judith down for bed."

"You staying here again tonight?" Michonne, standing near the door, directs at me.

I nod in affirmation, "Until he's better."

She returns my nod with one of her own, gives Carl one last smile, and disappears through the open doorway. Rick stays a moment longer, his hardened, fatherly gaze darting back and forth between the two of us.

"Thanks for staying and watching after him." he says to me. Then to Carl, he nods in my direction, "Make sure he eats that. I'll see you both in the mornin'."

With nothing further to say, Rick follows Michonne out the door, closing it behind him and finally Carl and I are alone together again. I expect Carl to start talking now that the others have gone, but he doesn't, instead opting to finish the remaining food in his bowel. Its slightly unnerving to see him behaving this way, almost as though he is suffering from extreme depression or something much worse. For the moment, I give him his space, watching him carefully as I too decide to indulge my dinner. My lack of appetite isn't making it exactly easy. The soup is warm and chicken flavored, and though it tastes exquisite, my stomach twists as I swallow the first bite. Now even my body is rejecting food. Carl takes notice of this, watching me silently yet meticulously with his remaining good eye. He again triggers my concern when his gaze shifts downward and his head droops, as if in defeat.

"Am I that bad to look at?" his raspy voice fills the air.

_What?_

Somewhat taken aback by his question, I instinctively sit my bowel down in my lap and gaze at him wide-eyed and confused.

"What do you mean?"

Carl's body visibly stiffens, almost as though he doesn't want to repeat himself for some reason.

"I said," he repeats. "Am I that bad to look at? Usually I can't get you to stop eating, and now...-"

It suddenly dawns on me what he's referring to.

_He's asking me if looking at him makes me sick?!_

"You can't possibly mean that." I reply sternly. "What would make you say something like that?"

Like a child being scolded by their parent, Carl winces and returns his gaze to his lap. So, I was right after all. He is depressed. But why? He doesn't have any reason to be. Its not _his_ fault he got hurt. I continue to watch him carefully as I anxiously await his answer. At least he's talking to me. Maybe if I can figure out exactly what it is that has him down, I can raise his spirits somehow. If there is one thing that depresses me more than Carl in physical pain, its Carl in physical and emotional pain at the same time. Carl takes his time coming up with an answer, closing his eyes in thought before releasing a loud sigh, followed by turning to face me once again.

"I have a giant fucking hole in my head." Carl snaps, a slight twinge of hurt and anger in his voice. "What's not to like?"

That last part was sarcasm.

_Okay, so my Carl is definitely in there. He's just hurting._

"You really think me not eating has something to do with your physical appearance?" I argue back at him.

That silences him.

I realize this is going to take time, so I pick my bowel up off my lap and sit it on the nearby nightstand, quickly returning my attention back to him afterwards. Rather than answer my question, however, Carl shifts topics, and suddenly my heart begins to tremble in my chest. When he speaks, his voice is no longer sharp and angry, but rather quivers, as though he's holding back tears. My expression immediately softens as a result.

"I made myself useless." he confesses to me. "I only have one eye, now. I can't help anyone like this."

"Carl, that's not tru-"

"Then why won't you eat?!" he barks. "I'm awake now! If its not true that I'm useless now... If its not true that the hole in my head doesn't disgust you, then why won't you-"

Now it's my turn to interrupt _him_.

With Carl distracted by his own rant, I am able to raise my hand without him really noticing. Just as he is about to finish his anger-induced banter, my hand swiftly moves to clasp his cheek. My hand connects, snapping him out of his rant with a shocked expression painted across his pale, freckled face, whilst bringing his attention solely to me. His skin is hot to the touch, further evidence of his emotional distress. I immediately take to stroking his soft skin with my thumb in an attempt to soothe him in some manner.

"Now you listen to me." I reply, my voice softer than before. "You were _shot_. Through no fault of your own, I might add. You lost your eye, but you could have lost your life. You are _not_ useless. It'll take some time to get used to, but you'll make it through this and come back stronger than ever. Furthermore, I could never find you revolting. You'll always be handsome to me. That's because your looks aren't why I love you."

To emphasize my point, I remove my hand from his cheek and jab my index finger into his chest.

"I love you for you."

Carl is visibly conflicted by this, turning away and gnawing at his lower lip, as if in shame. He freezes due to something in his line of sight and I immediately glance up to follow his vision to the source. Its the sofa I've spent the last few nights sleeping on. I'll admit, I've made no effort to straighten up my makeshift bed, so Carl sees it in all of its messy glory. The blankets Denise had given me are strewn around the sofa, my pillow sitting at an awkward angle, as though its about to fall off. The disarray would be embarrassing were it not for the seriousness of the moment. Carl narrows his eye as he takes in the sight, and his nostrils flare, as if he is still somewhat agitated. My heart breaks for him. Carl has always been rather hot headed. He gets it from his father. As a result, anytime he is emotionally confused and frustrated, he expresses it as blinding anger, followed by internalization. From what he's told me, I already know that he blames himself for his own injury, and thinks himself useless because of it. Furthermore, he somehow has convinced himself that his wound will harm my love for him. I wish I could ease his fears and concerns somehow...

Carl turns slightly, pausing briefly as if in mid-thought, and then completely turns back to me; glancing at me out of the corner of his eye. The uncertainty and rage haven't left his cobalt eyes just yet.

"Prove it." he demands.

And there is my window.

If I want to ease his internal suffering, I'll have to do what I've already done a thousand times: Prove to him how much I love him.

Matching the intensity of his gaze with my own, I stand up from my place beside his bed and move closer to him. Carl says nothing as I approach, watching me carefully until I'm standing directly beside where he is sitting up in bed. I honor the seriousness of his demand with an air of complete and total sternness, folding my arms across my chest to further emphasize this point.

"Take it off." I instruct him.

His eye flicks up towards me, searching me for an answer to what the hell I'm talking about, while retaining its piercing quality.

"Your bandages." I clarify. "Take them off. I want to see it. You can put them back on afterwards."

Carl hesitates, "Why-"

"You want me to prove it to you?" I cut him off. "Do it."

Reluctantly, after giving me a brief stare of disbelief, Carl lifts his hands from his lap and begins to cautiously unwrap the bandages encircling his head. I know what I'm doing. After two days, the wound has definitely healed. The bleeding has stopped and it should be mostly safe from infection, at least for the time being, but that's not why I'm having him remove them. In my experience, especially back during the old days in high school, I know that a lot of people who suffer from grievous injuries often become self-conscious about them, even without intending to do so. The way he's behaving, and the things he's said, lead me to believe Carl is feeling similarly. He views his wound as a negative, ugly thing that is revolting to both see and think about. I have to break that mentality before it breaks him. Once I do that, I can help him re-wrap it.

Carl hesitates as he begins to unwrap the final bandage, glancing at me to judge my reaction thus far. When I don't say anything, he drops his hands, releasing the final strand of bandages to his lap. Initially, I can't see the damage from the bullet. Carl's trademark long hair is covering it up. Unfolding my arms, I bend down and reach to push Carl's bangs out of the way. Carl's stare becomes harsher than ever, but he doesn't attempt to stop me. Taking that as my permission to proceed, I swiftly push the locks of brown hair out of my way and behold his injury for the first time. Just the sight of it causes a sharp pain in my chest. The hole where Carl's eye use to be is horrific to behold, scarring all around the socket, along with fragmented pieces of flesh which have become a physical memorial to the dance with death Carl had endured as a result of this injury. I can see where Denise tried to cut away some of the damaged tissue shortly after he was shot. The sight of this wound causes my heart to ache even more. To think Carl endured all of this and is still able to sit up and talk to me again.

He really is the strongest person I know.

Carl must have picked up on my change of demeanor.

"See?" he says. "I knew it. Its disgus-"

I don't give him a chance to finish his thought.

Moving my hand to the back of his head, I grasp a fist full of his hair and gently pull him forward, my lips meeting his as I press into him for a deep kiss. The expression on his face is priceless; a mixture between full blown shock and confusion. This quickly melts into emotion as I kiss his lips a second time, only this time he responds, opening his mouth slightly to allow me to kiss him more passionately. It takes him a moment, but I soon feel his hand slowly, cautiously, find the back of my own head. Like a child, nervously exploring a new location, Carl very carefully threads his fingers, one by one into my hair. Its almost as though he's still trying to figure out if this sudden display of love is real. Like he really didn't expect me to answer his challenge. Whatever the case, realization must have hit him like a freight train, because he suddenly closes his eye and begins to enthusiastically return my kiss, sliding his moist tongue into my mouth, where it coils around my own, inviting me to deepen our lip-lock. We continue to kiss like that for several long moments, noses clashing as we both battle for a more suitable position to kiss the other; breath labored by our surprisingly strenuous activity.

When I finally release him, my hands cradling his cheeks as we come apart, I see the telltale signs of tears in his eye.

Tears I quickly wipe away with my nearby thumb.

"I'm sorry you got hurt." I murmur softly to him. "But you have to know that you're not useless and you're certainly not revolting. Truth is, I was so sick with worry while you were asleep that I couldn't eat, and seeing you in pain since you woke up only made it worse. That's why I couldn't eat. It has nothing to do with your injury."

Carl opens his mouth to speak, a single tear streaking down his cheek as he does, "Tanner, I'm-"

"Don't be sorry." I stop him, knowing exactly where he is heading with this. "I'm not angry with you. Just know that there isn't anyone else I could love. Scar or no scar."

With that, Carl allows me to pull him into a hug, this one stronger than the one I gave him earlier in the day. Carl's initially tense body now feels light as a cloud, melting into my strong embrace, where I cradle him protectively. I hold him like this for what seems like an eternity, the night becoming deeper and deeper as time passes on. Eventually, I notice Carl starting to become sleepy again. At first, there is a twinge of fear in my chest. Fear that he'll fall asleep and slip back into a coma, but I quickly get a hold on my anxiety and quench my fears. Carl breaks our embrace, picking up the bandages in his hands to begin putting them back on. Eager to help, I seat myself on the edge of his bed and begin to assist him.

"Tanner?" his voice comes as I continue to wrap the bandages back into place.

"Hmm?"

"Sleep with me tonight?"

The sheer amount of times Carl can melt my heart in one day never cease to astound me.

"I dunno." I reply, cocking my eyebrow at him. "Denise may not like that."

"I don't care." Carl retorts as I finish bandaging him, throwing back his covers while scooting over to give me room. "The patient is always right."

_There's the witty humor I'm used to getting from him._

He glances at me expectantly and, though I know I probably shouldn't, I just can't tell him no. Not after everything that has happened in the past two days. I'm just about to answer when Carl decides to melt what's left of my heart;

"Please, Tanner?"

Either Carl is a good actor, or he is actually pleading with me to sleep next to him. No matter which it is, with that, he's won and I show him my concession by pushing back the covers and sliding underneath. Once I settle myself, turning myself onto my side facing Carl's direction, Carl also flips backwards, pushing his back into me, which allows me to drape my arm over the top of him. Its his favorite position to sleep in. My chest warms at his touch. Its only been two days, but I have missed sleeping with him. Even sleeping in the same room, as I have been while he was in his coma, it wasn't the same as actually sleeping next to him. Nothing could ever compare to that. As the silence settles in, Carl reveals just how tired he truly is by slipping off to sleep almost immediately, his breathing settling into a steady rhythm as he does, leaving me alone to my thoughts.

_He's safe._

I tell myself.

_Only he's not._

A voice inside my head argues.

Suddenly, a mental image of Negan manifests in the front of my mind. Negan and his Saviors are responsible for this. Not only did they hurt Carl, nearly killing him in the process, the result of their injury very nearly broke his spirit. Anger seeps into my chest, warming it even further, even as my heart rate accelerates. As long as Negan remains a threat, Carl is still in danger.

_"Take care of Carl, okay?" _I remember Tara's last words vividly.

My arm tightens its grip around Carl in response, pressing him even closer against me. I've just been given a miracle, with Carl surviving that gunshot, I won't make the same mistakes again. Negan has to be killed through any means and at all costs. I've only few times been more sure of anything. I can only hope Ezekiel has found something to help us in that endeavor.

_Rick._

_Mich._

_Judy._

_...Carl..._

_My family._

_I won't let him hurt them any longer!_

If it comes down to it...

_I'll kill him myself...!_

* * *

**A/N: That one was a bit longer than the other have been. I hope you all enjoyed! This was an interesting chapter for me to write. For those of you who read This Cruel Reality, we all saw Tanner at his lowest point, mentally, physically, and emotionally, when he reunited with Natalie; his old friend and former "guardian" so to speak, turned sadistic enemy. We never really got to see Carl sink that low, and now you can. Will Carl be able to pick up the pieces of his self-esteem and rise above this incident? We'll see in the coming chapters. O****f course, the chapter's namesake comes from the last line of it. Tanner is starting to change his way of thinking. That means the big confrontation with Negan is coming soon! But no spoils! :3 ****Also, big news in The Walking Dead world! I'm guessing most of you saw Season 5's trailer?! Wasn't it epic?! I can't WAIT for October now! This season is definitely going to be a lot of fun to watch! Once again, I hope you all really enjoyed this chapter. I had a blast writing it. **

**Now, onto the reviews!**

**vmbaby: Well, I always say that tragedy creates the best development. It always puts the characters into the worst possible situations, which allows them to show their humanity and their goodness when they are forced to overcome it. Like you, I love seeing these two characters face the worst kinds of adversity and seeing how they grow. It really is a fun experience. Thank you for your compliments and your review :)**

**IamwhoIam987: Thank you for your forgiveness! xD Well, now you know what happens to Carl. Carl still has some issues to work out, obviously, and next chapter we'll see some of the other effects this injury has had on him, since there is only so much I can show while he's still in bed, but I won't spoil you. You'll just have to wait and see where he goes from here ;) Thanks for your review!**

**Silver Rain: Tanner was caught between a rock and a hard place in that chapter. For one, he was surrounded by Negan's goons, which would've made it bad for him if he'd turned the gun on Negan. Furthermore, Negan had Carl. He knew if he shot at Negan, he could risk either injuring Carl, or failing and Negan killing Carl. There really wasn't a good choice for him in that situation. A lot of people want Negan dead xD and rightfully so. Guess you'll just have to see what happens to him :D Thanks for your question and comments!**

**Thanks you guys!**

**Don't forget to favorite, follow, and review this chapter!**

**See you guys with the next one.**

**Later!**


	17. Facing the Monster

"Careful, Carl. Take it easy."

Recovery is moving slowly.

It has now been three and a half days since Carl was shot; a day and a half since he woke up. Carl is not one to lay down and sulk in his injuries, however, and has already been attempting to walk on his own... which leads me to my current predicament. We're both still staying at Denise's house, on her own instruction, until she deems Carl healthy enough to go home. I think that's what provoked him to try this, but so far nothing good has come of it. The two of us are in the middle of the room, which Carl has just attempted to cross, but the offset in his balance, created by his brain injury, nearly caused him to topple over. Thankfully, my reflexes are sharp, and I moved to catch him before he could fall and seriously injure himself further. I can see the frustration painted across Carl's face. He doesn't have to say it. I know what he's thinking.

Carl Grimes is not a victim, and he certainly doesn't like acting like one.

I patiently wait for him to gather his thoughts and strength, supporting his weight with my own body to prevent gravity from pulling him down to the ground. Gritting his teeth, Carl slowly lifts himself back into a standing position. I rise with him, slipping my arm under his to support him completely. Even like this, I can feel him teetering back and forth. His balance has taken a horrible hit from this. I can safely say that I've never seen Carl this upset and he's been very upset many times since I first met him.

"Come on." I urge him gently. "You need to rest."

"I want to go home." Carl asserts, casting me a sideways glance that could have killed everything in its path. "Don't you want to be back in our own bed?"

I have to give him that one.

_But you know you can't let him. Not until he's better._

Yeah, I know.

I give him a sympathetic look. He's gotten this look enough since he's been awake to know what it means. Huffing in frustration, but bowing his head in defeat, Carl - with my aid - begins to make his way back towards his bed. Carl plops down on the side of the bed with a heavy thud and immediately sinks down in depression. I take a seat next to him and affectionately drape my arm across his shoulders. I have to give it to him, he certainly won't go down easily. If I were in his condition, it would be a miracle to get me _out _of bed.

"You know, I didn't think it was possible, but you've gotten _more_ hard-headed lately." I jest with him, trying to lighten the mood.

I am rewarded for my efforts.

Even though I can see Carl visibly fighting to stop himself, he cannot contain the slight smirk that curls along the edges of his mouth. Its not a full-fledged smile, but I'll take what I can get. I'd kill to see Carl smile right now. I haven't seen him smile in days, certainly not since he had woken up from his coma. His smirk quickly vanishes, as if he remembers he's still in a pretty sticky predicament. Our time alone is suddenly interrupted as the door to Carl's room swings open and in walks Denise, Rick, and Michonne. I'd half expected to see Daryl here, since he had visited the night prior, or even Carol, but neither of them were present. The lack of Judith indicates to me that she is with Carol again. Rick looks tense and a quick glance at Michonne tells me something is up.

Something... not right.

"Everything okay?" I direct more at Michonne than Rick, even though it is Rick who responds.

"I have some news."

The depth of seriousness in Rick's voice causes the hairs on the back of my neck to stand on end. With those four words, Rick has my heart suddenly racing in my chest. What's happened? Has someone else been hurt? Killed? Has there been another attack? I haven't heard any gunshots, but it could have happened to scouts, or during a run. Carl picks up on the thick tension pervading the room and immediately perks up beside me.

"What is it, Dad?"

"Rick!" Michonne hisses behind him. "Is here really the best place?"

Rick Grimes hesitates for a moment.

Michonne isn't helping with my anxiety, though I can agree with her. If whatever he is about to tell us is stressful in anyway, it could jeopardize Carl's health during a time where he is making the slow climb to improvement. Rick's brawny hands go to his hips and he lets out a loud huff of frustration. Whatever is bugging the elder Grimes, I wish he'd just spit it out. I'm not good with suspense.

"You're right." Rick admits to her in a softer tone. "Tanner, can I speak to you? Outside?"

Well, that really doesn't sit well with Carl.

"You're gonna leave me out of it?!" the younger Grimes snarls.

"Carl, you need to focus on getting better." his father argues. "It'll only be a moment."

Tension in the room is rising faster by the moment.

Any argument between the two Grimes men is likely to make the situation much worse than it has to be. The two don't argue as often as they used to, but when they do, it can get pretty heated. Rick and Carl are both staring each other down like hawks setting sight on their prey, leaving Michonne and I glancing between each other, wondering what to do. If it comes right down to it, we'll use the same game plan we always used over the past several years. Michonne will take Rick, I'll take Carl, and we'll defuse them separately. Its not always easy, but the plan has never failed us.

"What is it Rick?" I chime in, softly, trying to defuse a possible meltdown. "Just tell us."

Its too late to leave Carl out of it anyways.

He knows something is up now.

Rick seems to realize this, glancing back at Michonne, who merely offers a shrug.

"Ezekiel came back today." he announces after another heavy sigh. "They captured one of the Saviors."

My heart skips a beat.

They _what?!_

Ezekiel actually captured one of them?! If that is true, then this is _good_ news rather than bad. However, something is still off. Neither Rick nor Michonne seem exactly pleased with this development. At first, I find this strange. Capturing an enemy is a good thing. They can be interrogated for information, used as bait, or even as a bartering chip if Negan was ever put in a pinch. So why? Why be so gloomy about it? Furthermore, why did Rick want to pull me aside to talk about it? The last time we'd talked about the Saviors, Rick had wanted me to stay out of the fighting as well. It can't just be Carl that was holding them back to begin with. Then it dawns on me.

Carl _is _the reason, because..._  
_

"The one who shot Carl?" the words escape my mouth at the same time that I'm processing them.

Whatever argument Carl planned to continue with his father is shot to hell now. His own disbelief is plainly painted across his face.

"How are you sure?" I continue, dumbfounded. "You didn't see him get shot."

"He admitted to it." Michonne chimes in. "And he asked to speak to you."

The blood in my veins freezes.

"To me?" I repeat in disbelief.

_That explains why Rick wanted to talk about this in private..._

"He mentioned you by name." Rick confirms with a nod.

"Did you happen to catch his?"

"Yeah," the older man replies. "Dwight."

####

Carl hadn't been too on board with this plan.

For one, I haven't left his side since he woke up, other than to get us both food. Part of me thinks that, even though he'll never admit it due to his own stubborn pride, he doesn't like me leaving him; despite the fact that Michonne was going to stay behind with him. Secondly, confronting his own shooter also seemed to be a big part of his argument. Of course, I also suspect he doesn't want me in harms way, but I had assured him that everything would be okay. Those thoughts aside, I turn my focus to Dwight. I've only met the man once, during my captivity with Negan. Though it could have just been deception, Dwight didn't seem to be like the rest of the Saviors. At least, that's what I had thought. Now that I know he's the one responsible for nearly taking Carl from me, my ears are searing against the cold wind, as anger takes its firm grip on me.

I'd given up revenge on Carl's shooter.

I had figured that, even if I'd had a chance at the Saviors, they'd never tell me who shot him. I hadn't expected the shooter to turn themselves in. Now, as we march towards the church, where Dwight is being held, I can only become angrier and angrier with each step. Rick has agreed to accompany me over to the church. According to him, Dwight is refusing to speak to anyone except for me, so I really don't have a choice in the matter either way. I can tell its bothering Rick that I'm having to speak to the Savior. Whether its from trying to shelter me from a dangerous enemy, or prevent me from killing him in retribution, I can't tell. At this point, it could really be both.

"Are you sure you're okay with this?" Rick asks me as we approach the church.

"I'm not." I admit truthfully. I have to grit my teeth to contain my caustic anger. "But I have to."

We reach the door.

"I'll be right out here." Rick informs me. "If you feel threatened, just yell and I'll come running.

I nod my response to him.

In all these years I've been his son-in-law, Rick has really stepped up to the fatherly role left vacant by the absence of my own father. His words of caution just now were only the latest example of that. Even if I don't always say it, I'm really thankful to him for that. With a nod of his own, Rick pries open the door to the church, and I step in unaccompanied.

It doesn't take me long to spot Dwight. Rick is not one to take chances. The Savior is thoroughly tied down to a chair near the altar. His hands, legs, torso, everything that could be tied down, is tied down. I suppose after the last attack Alexandria suffered under the Saviors, Rick decided that he'd make sure this one couldn't escape and wreak similar havoc on our community. Dwight's severely scarred face perks up upon hearing my approaching footsteps. He seems somewhat disoriented, but eventually he looks all the way up and his gaze finally meets mine. The grin he gives upon seeing me is nothing short of sadistic. I'm not intimidated. Face-to-face with me is Carl's attacker. Just the sight of his already-mutilated face was making me sick. Now having to think that this man almost tore my new family apart is not improving my mentality.

"You actually came."

The sound of his voice causes my stomach to twist involuntarily. I can feel my face contort in anger and rage. I can't stand the sight of him, much less his voice. I purposely hang back. I know that if I get any closer to him, Rick is going to have to come in here and prevent me from killing him. I shove my hands into my pockets and focus a cold gaze on Dwight before engaging him.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kick your fucking skull in right now."

He wasn't expecting that.

I wasn't nearly this venomous the last time we met.

"Hello to you too." he retorts sarcastically.

Unfortunately for him, I'm in no mood for humor. For a moment, my restraints completely come loose, and I cross the room with feverish speed. I wait just long enough until I'm within striking range, and then lash out. I feel my fist connect to his face, hard enough to cause his head to fly backwards. It doesn't take long for blood to start trickling into his lap and onto the floor. Enough that I can excuse the small throb in my knuckles.

He deserved that.

I should hit him again, but I force myself back under control. I don't want Rick to interfere before I can see what the bastard wants me for.

"I suppose that means they told you about my little confession." Dwight continues, wincing in pain, even as blood continues to trickling down his face.

"I'd like to hear it again." I snarl. "From you. So that when you're dead, I'm sure I got the right guy."

"Enough." Dwight's voice suddenly hardens. "I didn't come here to play a game of 'who's got the biggest cock'. I get it. I'm probably the second to last person you wanted to see, especially after what happened with your little boyfriend."

My already cold stare grows colder.

"Then why ask for me?"

"Because I may have had a change of heart, and because, whether you like it or not," his voice rises with inflection. "You and I are alike. We both have spouses in turmoil over this thing. You are the only one who can understand me."

"Understand you?"

The amount of rage surging through me is enough to make my voice quiver. Dwight must have picked up on this, because he cocks his head at an odd angle, like a dog upon hearing a high-pitched noise. How _dare _he assume I'd understand him? After what he's done, he just expects to waltz in here and claim he's on my side?! I consider myself a forgiving person. Not with this though. Not with him. I won't let him off that easily. There is simply no chance in hell for that.

"Let me shoot _her_ eye out." I start in. "Make you watch as she almost bleeds out in your arms, while you desperately try to find help. Make you listen to her cry out in pain while someone other than you tries to save her life. Then watch for two days while she wastes away in some _fucking _coma and you're not sure if she's going to live or die, or something even worse. And then, when she _finally _wakes up, have her tell you how useless she feels. Watch as she falls apart in front of you." I'm having to try hard not to scream at him. And it is hard. Oh _so_ hard. "You let me do that to _you_, and _then_ ask me to understand you."

I think I've made my point.

I don't think Dwight quite expected that either.

"Negan has my wife." his voice is barely a whisper. "If I don't do what he says, he'll kill her."

"So you tried to kill Carl instead?!"

"Negan wanted him dead." Dwight snaps. "For that stunt you pulled at the factory. Shooting Lucile. He thought... He thought if someone killed off your boyfriend, it'd teach you a lesson."

"He's not my boyfriend. He's my husband." I correct him harshly. "And his name is Carl. Fuckin' remember that."

Once again, my heart is torn. Every time I think of what this man has done to Carl, I want to pick up the nearest chair and use it to beat the living shit out of him. Even so, a small voice in my head makes me wonder what I'd do under the same circumstances. If Carl was being held by someone who treated him as their own spouse, rather than mine, had sex with him rather than let he and I be together, and threatened his life if I didn't do everything I was told, would I not go to the same lengths to ensure his safety? Frustrated, I turn on my heel and face the opposite wall. I can't look at him anymore. The conflict in my heart is bad enough as it is without having to look upon him.

"Hearing your words..." Dwight continues in my silence. "Back at the factory. Seeing how you two reunited. It made me remember what having someone to love was like. I just want to save my wife. End Negan's tyranny. I can tell you his secrets, his weaknesses... I'll bring you his head on a silver platter if I have to!"

Silence ensues.

I let it.

"Let's get one thing straight." I finally say. "I don't trust you. I certainly don't understand you. Because of you and your people, two of my friends have died, and I nearly lost the person I love more than anything in this world. Rick will decide if what you have to say is worth listening to and ultimately your fate. But... know this... These people, they're not like your band of criminals. These people are my family. If you hurt them _ever_ again, I will kill you."_  
_

I try not to give him a chance to respond, bolting straight for the door.

I want out.

I'm unsuccessful, however, because he manages to respond before I hit the door:

"When Negan's dead, it won't matter if you trust me or not." Dwight calls after me. "Because the nightmare will finally be over."

Stopping for nothing, my hand connects with the church door and I step out into the sunlight.

####

Night again.

The moon is full this night. Unabated by clouds, it shines brilliantly against the black night sky, revealing the cosmos to the entire world. Its a spectacular sight, even from the window I'm viewing it from. Behind me, Carl is finishing up his dinner, though I can feel him watching me very carefully. As soon as we were alone, earlier, I had told him all about my meeting with Dwight. After that, though, I have been very quiet, even for me, ever since. Once again, I haven't really eaten much of my own dinner, which he had originally protested, but had stopped when he saw I was clearly not in the mood to argue about such a trivial matter. I hear him clear his throat, preparing to speak; probably to break up the tension in the room.

"Denise says I can go home tomorrow." he announces.

I feel a small weight on my heart lift, even though I don't really show it.

"That's great, Carl." I reply, turning to him. "You'll be much more comfortable there."

I feel bad.

My thoughts are on something else, so I don't celebrate as much as I should to the news that he's getting to come home. The truth is, I'm elated. I can't wait to have him home again. To sleep in our own bed again. As I have said may times in the past, though, Carl is very perceptive. After hearing my explanation earlier, he must have picked up on something and therefore knew what was truly troubling me.

"Tanner, I know you'd do the right thing." he says out of nowhere.

I shoot him a puzzled look.

"If someone ever had me captive, I know you wouldn't turn into a monster." he clarifies. "You're too good a person."

Head on the nail, Carl. As always.

"I'd still go out of my way to save you." I confess to him, my voice betraying a slight tremble. "You've gotta know that."

I don't know who I'm trying to convince harder: him or myself.

From the pleading nature of my voice, I'm going to go with the second option. I know he's right. I couldn't stomach doing what Dwight has done, even under the same circumstances. No matter how much I tell myself I would do those things, I know I wouldn't. Carl wouldn't ever want me to turn into something that monstrous, no matter what the situation was. I think that alone would keep me from doing so. That doesn't mean I wouldn't fight like my life depended on it to protect him. To find some way to save him. I just wouldn't...

...I definitely wouldn't...

...Turn into that monster.

Would I...?

I'm jolted from my thoughts when I feel Carl's skinny arms wrap around my waist from behind me. Did he walk over to me on his own? Glancing back, I can see that Carl had somehow stumbled from his bed and then collapsed into me to prevent himself from falling. It does seem like his balance is starting to improve, though. I feel his chin on my shoulder, head lean against mine as he joins me in staring out the dust-speckled window at the spectacular cosmos sprawled out above us. Its unusual for him to hold me. Not that I mind it one bit. I like having him wrapped around me for a change. I melt back into him, taking in his aroma, the softness of his hair against my cheek. His hot breath against my cold skin brings goosebumps to the surface and gives me a slight shiver. For the first time since he woke up, he finally smiles genuinely.

Not just a smirk or a grin.

An actual smile.

Its nice.

"I know." he finally replies after sometime. "Of course I know."

"The fighting will start soon." I continue. "With Ezekiel back and Dwight captured, its only a matter of time."

At that, Carl physically tenses.

"We'll be ready for them."

I sigh a chuckle, "I suppose I can't convince you to take a back seat for this fight?"

Carl smirks, "No chance in hell. I'm fighting beside you, Tanner."

"I figured you'd say something like that." I reply. "C'mon..."

I surprise him, reaching down to place my hands in the bend of his legs, which allows me to pick him up for a piggyback. My intention is to take him to bed where the two of us can finally get some decent sleep. Carl's initial surprise makes this difficult at first, but he soon relaxes, allowing me to lightly carry him across the floor towards the bed.

"The last time you gave me a piggyback was when we met." he reminds me as we continue our approach.

I allow myself to think back to that day.

Walkers surrounding the stranger boy, whom I'd soon learn was Carl. Slashing viciously through the undead to keep him from getting bitten. He'd hit his head, so I'd had to carry him out of those woods, much the same way that I am carrying him towards our bed for the night at this precise moment. Its a fond memory of the day I learned the name of the person whose name I'd never get tired of hearing or saying. Whose last name I'd end up taking for my own. Funny how I'd walked up to him thinking I'd just be helping a kid out. Little did I know, back then, that I'd tie the knot with that same boy years later.

I smile at the memory as I drop him gently down to the bed.

Carl promptly scoots over and I climb in next to him, pulling the thick blankets over the top of both of us, before settling into our favorite sleeping position. Nuzzling him gently, I'm compelled to verbally remind him of his meaning to me, as I so often do:

"I really love you, Carl." I murmur softly to him.

"And I love you." he responds sleepily.

I take in the sight of the moon one final time before shutting my eyes.

My last thoughts, before sleep hits me, is of Dwight and Negan. I know the battle is coming. I know people are going to die. It'll be a horrific day that adds on to the horror that this apocalypse has already been. My only hope, as I drift off into my dreams, is that when it is all over, Carl and I can find some happiness afterwards, put it behind us, and live as normal of a life as possible. In order to do that, I know Dwight is right about one thing, and one thing only...

Negan has to perish.

He cannot be allowed to harm anyone ever again.

And if I get my way?

He never will.

* * *

**A/N: This chapter was a little more tense, no? Dwight has reappeared and, from this point further, will become much more significant just like I promised. With the next chapter, the tension and action will begin to pick up once again! How will Carl fight in what's to come with his handicap? Will Rick accept anything Dwight has to say? And, last but not least, what other news did Ezekiel bring from his scouting mission? All this and more are coming up. The main focus of this chapter was Tanner's development. He's a bit colder in this chapter, isn't he? I really liked that. It really just goes to show how much Tyreese and Tara dying, as well as Carl nearly dying, has weighed on him. Now, how will this carry into the impending confrontation with Negan? Only time will tell! I hope you all really enjoyed this chapter. It is one of my favorites, so far, with this story for sure! Make sure to review and favorite! I look forward to hearing everyone's thoughts on this :)**

**On to the reviews!**

**IamwhoIam987: Thank you! :) I'm glad you thought it was sweet. They definitely needed a sweet moment together after all of that, or at least, I thought so hahaha _Writing_ this story is the only thing keeping me sane during my wait for Season 5. I simply cannot wait! Thanks for your review! :) Hope this chapter was enjoyable for you.**

**Guest: I was asked this in This Cruel Reality, and I didn't have an answer then. I made up Tanner's appearance in my head, so I never modeled him off an actor. That being said, I finally found an actor that greatly resembles how I imagine Tanner to look, and I found him while watching Jurassic Park (yes, you read that right) a few weeks ago. His name is Trevor Morgan, and he played Eric Kirby in Jurassic Park III so unless you've seen that movie, you may not have ever heard of him. He was 13-14 in that movie, so if you age him up to 17, that's pretty close to what Tanner looked like in my head for This Cruel Reality. Age him up to 21 and you'd be pretty close to how I see Tanner in this story. Again, its not exact, since I created Tanner in my head, rather than basing him off of an actor, but he's as close as you get to how I imagine him. Good question :) Thank you.**

**Hope you guys enjoyed and thank you for your comments, questions, and reviews!**

**Keep 'em coming! I love hearing from you all! **

**See you all with the next one!**

**Later!**


	18. Convergence

**Disclaimer: **This chapter contains sexual content. Though this is a Rated M story, I still feel the need to let my readers know just in case. If that, in anyway, bothers you, this is your fair warning. If such things do not really bother you, continue unhindered and enjoy this chapter :)

* * *

With Ezekiel's return and Dwight's capture, I asked myself how long it would be before the cogs of war finally began to turn.

The answer?

Almost immediately.

The day immediately following my confrontation with Dwight, the telltale signs of a fight brewing are everywhere. Rick has Daryl, Abraham, and Bob checking and rechecking our stores of weapons, while Glenn and Maggie prepare the wall teams. So far, though, Rick hasn't let me in on his specific plans for the coming fight against the Saviors. I suspect this is purposeful, as he knows I have Carl's ear and as soon as I'm told, Carl will know. With Carl still recovering, and knowing how his son will react to any sort of battle plans, I suspect Rick only intends to tell me at the last minute, if even then. Unfortunately for the senior Grimes, I'm not so patient, and so, I allow Carl to sleep in, giving me time to go and meet with my father-in-law.

Finding Rick is the easy part.

The man only exists in one of three places in Alexandria at any point in time; the wall, the church, and our home. Knowing Glenn and Maggie are tending to the wall, I set out for the church, where Dwight is being held. Luckily, I don't have to go inside and face the mutilated Savior, because I see Rick Grimes standing outside the place of worship and common meeting place for our community. He is accompanied, I see, by Jesus and Ezekiel, marking the first time since the Kingdom that I've seen all three leaders in the same place at one time. The three men are so preoccupied by their hushed conversations, they hardly notice me approach. As I get closer to them, I notice Shiva - the tiger Ezekiel kept with him during our last visit - chained to a nearby tree in the church yard. The sight of the beast is certainly unnerving. I'm not used to seeing such exotic animals outside of a zoo, certainly not free of cages, and something in my head tells me that the chain being used to hold Shiva in place won't actually be enough to keep her there if she decides to take a particularly unwanted interest in anyone in the community.

It isn't until I take steps onto the wooden stairwell leading up to the church porch that Rick and the other two leaders realize they have additional company. Rick's first reaction is that of alarm:

"Tanner?" he gawks, still somewhat surprised to see me. "What are you doing here? Is Carl okay?"

I can't help but let a smirk slip by my normal facade.

I've spent so much time at Carl's side since the day he was shot, that Rick is taking my sudden venturous behavior to mean that something terribly wrong has happened to his oldest child.

"He's fine, Rick." I quickly assure him. I take seriously Rick's concern for Carl, the same way he does for my own. "I actually came to see you."

Rick's surprise immediately shifts to confusion.

"You don't have to leave me out." I clarify, glancing around at the other two in the meantime. "I want to help if I can."

Both Jesus and Ezekiel remain quiet as Rick contemplates my words. Rick's own facial expression is hardened with concern. So far, the man has done everything in his power to ensure that Carl and I stay out of the fighting. After what happened with Carl, I can hardly blame him, but he should know by now that it isn't that simple. Both Carl and I want to contribute, even if its just a little bit, and eventually Rick will have to face that. Rick sighs with frustration, bringing his hand up to stroke his rough, graying beard.

"And Carl?"

I expected him to ask that.

I simply nod, "When he's physically able." I reply truthfully. "But, yes. Him too."

After hearing that, I expect Rick to protest. I certainly wouldn't hold it against him if he did. Instead, the older man once again turns to silence, thinking deeply about the situation he's presented with. I almost feel bad for coming to him when I did. He was likely already considering tough things and now he has to deal with his son and son-in-law wanting to join in the fighting. Another glance around reveals Ezekiel smiling rather approvingly. After our own one-on-one conversation at the Kingdom, I feel Ezekiel and I have a sort of understanding between us and, though I've known him for a short time, I trust him, which says a lot after all that has happened recently. Jesus, on the other hand, is harder to read. I suddenly wonder what things are like back in Hilltop. Their community is hassled more often by Negan's band of thugs, so I can imagine the increased tensions are only making that worse. Eventually, Rick clears his throat, drawing my attention back to him to await his say in the matter.

"I can't keep treating you both like children." he confesses, which genuinely surprises me. "You're both men and I have to accept that. I'd be glad to have you both at my side."

Now I can let my smile slip through.

Carl will be pleased with that news more than anything.

"What about Dwight?" I ask, my thoughts immediately jolted by memory of the Savior. "Have you decided what you're going to do with him?"

Rick's expression hardens immediately.

Like me, Rick is repulsed at the thought of Dwight. I'm even more angered by the thought of the man after our conversation the day prior. It truly wouldn't cause me to bat an eye if Rick informed me that he had Dwight killed during the night. In fact, I'd probably sleep better at night knowing the one who shot Carl was dead. Rick's initial silence, however, tells me that likely isn't the case. Whatever has happened with Dwight, Rick is clearly not pleased with it, which leads me to advert my gaze to the other two leaders. Ezekiel immediately steps forward and I assume he is about to explain Rick's frustrated state.

"The scarred man is going to be our mole in Negan's forces." the white-haired king replies.

I can't say I approve.

That means Dwight will be set free to return to the Saviors. I don't trust him at all, but I figure that Ezekiel has his reasons, so I don't air my grievances and simply continue to listen.

"When the fighting starts, he'll look for an opportunity to cut off the head of this dragon we call the Saviors." Ezekiel explains. "If he succeeds, we can end this conflict much sooner."

"What makes you think he won't turn on us?" I simply cannot allow myself to leave here without challenging this logic.

For all we know, Dwight could betray us and then we'd be in an even worse position. Ezekiel's eyes brighten, a crooked grin twisting across his aged face. His look is knowing. It strikes me then and there, the depths of Ezekiel's wisdom. He has thought this all out. I had allowed myself to forget that Ezekiel hates the Saviors as much as any of us do. He wouldn't simply let one go on a whim.

"I trust that our scarred friend has more reason to be on our side than he does to side with Negan." Ezekiel replies. "That is enough for me."

I suppose if it is enough for him, then it will have to be enough for me.

I can't say I like it. Dwight does have more reasons to be for us, than against us. Like he said to me yesterday, if Negan dies, then he gets his wife back. I can't see him turning on us with those stakes in mind. Perhaps it is my anger at Dwight for harming Carl that is keeping me from seeing the benefits in this arrangement. Judging by Rick's expression, he feels similarly to me. Still, at the moment there is nothing more that I can do except accept the situation and prepare myself for what is to come. If we're lucky, Dwight will hold up his end of the bargain and we'll be one ally closer to putting the final nails in Negan's coffin. Ezekiel brings an abrupt end to my thoughts by slamming his cane down on the wooden floors of the church's porch, which I'm pretty sure alarmed everyone.

"That's enough worrying for one day." the self-proclaimed king announces. "Tonight we feast and enjoy friends and family. We'll have enough time for worries on the battlefield."

I'm incredulous.

How can one be so laid back in the face of all the death and destruction that is to come?

Though, I suppose, someone has to be.

Ezekiel doesn't wait on any of us to respond, and, with a disarming smile, descends the steps leaving the three of us still somewhat surprised. Still, if there was one thing I couldn't argue with, it was the promise of a feast. It has been a long while since I last heard that term and just the thought of a good meal is making me salivate. Turning to Rick, I offer my father-in-law a silent wave and then give a nod towards Jesus before bounding down the steps and back in the direction of Denise's house.

After all of that, I sure have a lot to tell Carl.

####

The rest of the day went by fairly slowly.

Carl woke up close to noon and I quickly informed him of the morning's discussions. Like me, Carl was immediately distrusting of Dwight, no matter the circumstances, but trusted his father's judgement. Both of us know that Rick wouldn't have gone along with it if he didn't see the novelty of it all. I then informed him of the big dinner Ezekiel planned to have that night. To my surprise, Carl opted for more rest, knowing that he will be going home tonight, but told me to go ahead and go. To be completely honest, the thought of going to some big pre-battle feast without my Carl with me makes me feel uneasy. Don't get me wrong, Carl and I can function on our own. Both of us have proven, during the past three years in Alexandria, that we can exist on our own, so long as we still have the promise of being together when we need one another. Sometimes, I think he does better at it than I do, because, even during times of peace, when I'm not with him, my thoughts often wander to him. So, marking the commencement of the coming war with Negan without him by my side feels strange to me, but I respect his wishes and attend.

The sun is slowly slipping under the horizon when I arrive back at the church to find the sanctuary turned into a massive dinner hall.

People from all three communities are present.

Without any doubt, this is the largest gathering of living human beings I have seen since the beginning of the apocalypse. I can make out Glenn and Maggie sitting together with Abraham and Rosita at one of the nearby tables and I immediately feel out of place. Carl should be here with me. It just isn't right without him. My mood improves slightly when I see Michonne slip in behind me. She quickly notices me and makes a beeline for my direction.

"Where's Carl?" is the first words out of her mouth.

"He's not feeling up to a big gathering like this." I inform her, my face immediately falling as the subject returns to him. "He told me to go ahead and come so I came alone."

Michonne offers me a light smile.

As long as she's staying, I think, this dinner might not be as lonely. The older woman reaches up and clasps my bicep, giving it a firm, affectionate squeeze; a very motherly display, which I'm becoming more used to getting from her lately.

"Well, I'm glad you came." she confesses. "You seen Rick?"

I shake my head.

"Not since this morning."

"Then why don't we sit together?" she suggests.

I could hug her right now.

At least with Michonne present, I won't have to act like the loner I am at heart, and sit alone. The two of us are quick to find an unoccupied table and await the food to come. I am quite surprised when it finally does. Food, even in Alexandria, usually consists of farm-grown vegetables, the occasional canned food depending on its date of expiry, and the occasional deer hunted by Daryl and Abraham. Even on those rare occasions, pickings are slim, and never what I'd call a feast. That's why, when a plate filled with slabs of cooked meat is put down before me, my stomach suddenly lurches with hunger. The aroma of cooked food - cooked meat - is absolutely mouth-watering. It takes every bit of restraint I have not to just plow into this and devour every last succulent strip of meat in front of me. In fact, I am just about to indulge my urging, when Ezekiel's booming voice brings a halt to the chatter filling the church sanctuary chamber, and all attention to him.

"Dine!" the snow-haired man booms. "Enjoy the boar we've slaughtered in your honor! Eat and be merry, for tomorrow, we are at war!"

A roar of approval goes up in the room.

I'd forgotten what such noise was like.

On the road, silence is a must. Even in a community like ours, with strong walls to defend it from outside forces, noise is frowned upon. Herds aren't easy to deal with, even with walls, so making the kind of noise that will draw walkers _en masse_ doesn't exactly seem like a good idea. Tonight, I suppose, is an exception to that rule. Tonight, three communities unite as one to ensure that the tyrant Negan and his Saviors don't continue their gruesome reign of terror and ensure that peace is again restored among the survivors of this terrible plague. When the room finally settles again, Ezekiel raises a glass mug, filled with what looks to be some sort of rum or other alcoholic beverage, in a toast to the community.

"To new allies." Ezekiel proclaims. "And to the end of old enemies!"

Another jovial cry goes up.

Michonne and I flash each other looks of bewilderment and caution.

"This guy is too much." she grumbles to me.

I smirk at her annoyance, "He is." I agree with her. "But, I have to admit, his cheer is rather contagious."

Our conversation is interrupted by the arrival of Rick, who is holding Judith, Carol, and Daryl. My mood brightens even more upon seeing them. Each of us exchanges greeting and then immediately goes about chowing down on our food. For the first time in a long time, I sense a great deal of comradery between our group. I can't put my finger on exactly what, but somewhere between the small talk that ensues over the course of dinner or the occasional smile that works its way across their faces as the night goes on, I find myself really enjoying my time with the others. The only crux is, again, that Carl isn't here to enjoy it with me. I know how much he'd enjoy seeing all of his friends smiling and having a good time. The more and more that I think about it, the more the rest of the dinner becomes just background noise to my own thoughts. Thoughts soon turn into emotion as the gaping hole left by Carl's absence begins to affect me.

Glancing to the empty spot next to me doesn't make it any better. For a while longer, I pretend to remain interested in the various conversations exploding around me, accenting my act with a small smile every now and then. No matter what I try, though, my thoughts always end up drifting back to Carl. Before long, the void of his absence turns into longing. Until I simply cannot handle it a moment longer. I have to go find him and spend the rest of the evening with him. I've spend almost the entire day without him and that's plenty of time for him to be rested. I abruptly stand to my feet, grabbing my plate as I do, which still has some food left on it. I figure Carl may have changed his mind and will be hungry when I return.

My sudden movement stops the group's conversation flat in its tracks and Michonne eyes me with concern.

"Everything alright?" she inquires, raising an eyebrow to me.

"Yeah." I reply with a smile. "I'm just tired is all."

I should know by now that lying to her is useless.

She, of course, sees right through my nervous facade and gives me a knowing glance. In fact, glancing around, _everyone_ seems to know what I'm really thinking about. Given all that's happened, I suppose I really couldn't keep my thoughts a secret, even if I really tried.

"Be safe going home then." Rick chimes in as he hands Judith another bite of boar.

I give them both a thankful nod, say my goodbyes to Judith, Carol, and Daryl and then I'm off - plate still in hand.

Its particularly cold when I get outside the doors of the church.

I hadn't brought a jacket, so the frigid night air bites at my skin, causing me to unwillingly shiver. For a moment, out of habit, I nearly head in the direction of Denise's house. It isn't until I reach the sidewalk outside the church that I realize that Carl has already been taken home by Denise. That in mind, I take my time making my way down the street towards our block. Alexandria is silent, all of the town's people either on watch at the wall, or at dinner enjoying the company of our new comrades. With winter here at last, not even the crickets chirp can keep me company. Clouds have gathered since last night, hiding the brilliant moon from sight, which leaves the streets virtually pitch black. I navigate my way home, despite this, and finally arrive in our yard. Its surreal being back home. I haven't set foot in this house since Carl was shot. I'd been too busy keeping him company at Denise's house instead.

Reaching the front door, I quietly twist the knob and push my way into the house.

####

The house is still and dark. If I didn't know better, I'd say I was here alone.

Shuffling inside and shutting the door behind me, I navigate my way through the dark room, careful so as not to bump into any of the furniture scattered around. My first stop is the kitchen, where I drop off the plate of food I'd brought for Carl. My hope is that he will feel up to coming and sitting with me, allowing him to eat, and me to get my fix on his company. As much as I'd like to say being with the group makes me feel comfortable, nothing quite surpasses the bliss I feel when its just Carl and I, even if we're completely alone in a dark house. My task complete, I immediately set my attention on seeking out my missing spouse in the dark house. Judging by the silence, I guess that Carl isn't in the shower. If I were him, I would've totally taken advantage of the alone time to use the scarce hot water that we have to myself. The only other place he could be, then, is our bedroom.

Navigating my way through the dark hallway, I find our door cracked ever so slightly, though the light inside is off. My mood suddenly dampens at the sight of this. Carl must be sleeping which means no dinner conversations with him. My demeanor is only saved by the fact that I can still crawl into bed next to him and enjoy our bed for the first time in several days. Convinced that he'll be out like a light by now, I turn and briefly consider taking a shower before joining him in our bed, before I am stopped by a familiar voice drifting out of our bedroom.

"Tanner?"

And with that one word, my heart soars again.

"Are you home?" Carl's voice calls to me again.

Rather than answer him with words, I respond by crossing the hall and pushing our door open, peeking my head into the darkness of our room. Though it is too dark to see all of his features, I can make out the shadowy outline of Carl's petite form sitting on our bed. For the second time that night, an uncontrollable smile spreads across my face and I immediately fully enter the room, closing our door behind me. With a flick of the knob, I lock it behind myself to give us some privacy should Rick, Judith, and Michonne come home early. From there, I kick off my shoes and make my way over to the bed where Carl is patiently waiting for me. Its a short distance to cross, but each step I take closer to him feels heavy. The desire passing between us, despite our lack of vocal exchange, is palpable. Its something that's been building in me all day. The need to be near him. To touch him. To take in his aroma. To hear his laugh or listen to his voice. The fact that we're once again back in our own room intensifies that feeling to an almost unbearable level.

"How long have you been waiting?" I breathe as my knees come down into the bed, placing me beside him at long last.

"Long enough." he replies.

"You could've slept." I remind him. "I would've woke you up when I got here."

Carl lets out a quaky chuckle, "I didn't want to." he informs me. "Its my first night back home. Thought we could do something special."

I can hear it on his voice.

The same emotion I felt throughout dinner. Longing. Missing. Our next actions are instinctual. I reach out and take him by the shoulders, pulling him into me while seeking his lips. It doesn't take long to find them and Carl is all to eager to entertain my longing, practically licking his way into my mouth. I indulge his kiss, allow my hands to focus on his wonderfully thick hair, which I brush out of his eyes, and curl around the outline of his ear. On one side, I can feel the rough fabric of the bandages keeping his wound under wraps, but I pay them no heed. I don't want Carl to think for a moment that his injury is distracting me, and to that end, I don't give it another thought. I re-position the offending hand against his shirt, which I immediately take a fistful of as I kiss back into him, pushing him ever so carefully back into the softness of our bed. Its only then, in that position, that I realize the shirt is familiar and far too large to be his own.

"Is that-?"

"Your shirt?" Carl is quick to put words in my mouth. "I needed a new one."

There is a playful tone to Carl's voice.

Its almost as though he planned this. Was he so longing for me to come home that he settled for wearing a piece of my clothing to help fill the void? Its such a sweet gesture, and yet, at the same time, incredibly hot too. I cannot deny that. Pulling back, as my eyes adjust to the darkness, I take in all of him. He is indeed wearing my shirt, which is slightly big on his thin, bony frame. Our kissing session had caused the shirt to fall in an awkward angle, leaving more of the left side of his neck and chest exposed. As if to keep up his seductive act, Carl keeps his head turned slightly, purposely keeping his neck exposed to me. Immediately my brain and my desires are at odds with each other. My brain cautions me that Carl's body may not be ready for what he's very clearly trying to get me to do, not with him only just having come home from a lengthy recovery. On the other hand, I very much desire to give him what he wants. I want to be with him. Feel his bare skin against my bare skin and cling to him with great need.

Carl notices my hesitation and is quick to soothe my concerns.

"I'll be okay, Tanner." he comforts me, running his fingertips gently across the surface of my arms.

Just that simple action brings goosebumps to the surface of my skin and causes me to shiver. This pleases Carl, who can no longer hide his grin. He knows he has me enthralled and I'm putty in his hands. My eyes trace over him a second time and a third. I want to be absolutely sure that he is okay. I would never want to be the cause of any pain Carl goes through, especially to fulfill my own desires. I'd never be able to forgive myself.

"Are you sure?"

In the old world, physical relationships between a married couple is expected. Asking the other if they want to or not doesn't ever seem to be in the equation. Regardless, I always ask Carl. Even if he is the one to initiate it, I always ask him. I never want to force him to do something he's uncomfortable with or make him do it while he isn't feeling good. I realize, by this point, that Carl is probably physically feeling up to the task. By now, I'm just making sure that he isn't doing this simply because he thinks he has to or because we haven't done it in awhile.

I should know better than to think like that by now.

Carl knows how to play this game by now. He doesn't shift positions, doesn't seek out another kiss or make any other seductive movements. He knows that his current position is already doing that job for him. And he'd be right. Spread out in front of me in nothing but his boxers and my large shirt, which is positioned to reveal as much skin as possible, without revealing _too much _has me ready to pounce on him and take what he has to offer. But I have self-control. It is quickly draining, but I fight my urges regardless until he answers me verbally.

"Tanner," Carl's voice is throaty and needy when it does finally come. "Please?"

That little tease.

Carl can get just about anything he wants out of me by feigning politeness to elicit the response he wants. He knows full well that he doesn't have to ask for it like that. I can't count the number of times, over the past three years, where he has simply, yet crudely demanded that I "fuck him". One time in particular, he quite literally barked it out at me. But there is something about the way he is currently pleading with me that leaves no doubt in my mind that I'll give him what he wants. Every. Single. Bit of it.

My hands skate across the fabric of _my _shirt, which is tightly enclosing him, feeling out every line of muscle hidden beneath it. Carl arches his back as I move up, as if eager just to feel me touch him. There is a clear frustration that has been building in him, almost as though he's been yearning for this moment for a much longer time than I'd originally suspected. I bring my hands back down, sliding them along his sides until I feel the familiar boundary of his boxer shorts. The elastic waistband easily yields to me as I slip my fingers underneath, quickly tug them around his ankles, and tossing them off the side of the bed, leaving him exposed to me from the waist down. Now I can physically _see_ his need for this, in the form of his hardened length standing proudly between his legs. Carl is so rock solid that it almost looks painful. I wonder, to myself, how long he's been that hard. Carl, himself, shows no shame in his arousal. He's three years passed that meek stage he was in when we first started fooling around. As I reach out and take him into my grasp, Carl practically thrusts himself into my fist, eager to relieve some of the painful tension building up in his groin.

"Hnngh!" Carl gasps as my hand engulfs him.

His skin is fiery hot to the touch, as if he had been sitting in an oven all day, and I move quickly to help bring him some relief. I don't take time to tease him with a slow start like I usually would. Instead, I vigorously fist Carl's length, watching with adoration as his back continually arches, and as he involuntarily thrusts into my fist to meet my own strokes. It doesn't take long to get results. Before I know it, Carl's manhood is leaking clear precum, lubing the rest of his length in the process as my strokes carry it across the surface of his hot flesh. His eyes are screwed shut and his bottom lip is held tightly between his clenched teeth, and I can tell he's doing everything in his power not to lose control of himself. Luckily for him, I don't intend to let him off so easily. When I let go of him, Carl very nearly comes flying upwards in protest.

"Tan..- Tanner?!" he gasps in frustration, bordering on anger. "Why...-?! Ohhh!"

Before he can even finish his inquiry, I've shifted my position, leaned down and taken him completely in my mouth. Arousal renewed by my new approach at satisfying him, I can feel Carl's length continue to gorge itself with blood even as I run my tongue along the bottom of his shaft, eliciting an almost violent, full-body shiver from him. Carl can seemingly no longer form words in his mouth, reduced to stuttering, whimpers, and gasps of ecstasy as I move my mouth and tongue along his length in my continued attempt to bring him off. He's now leaking precum like a fountain and I enjoy every drop that my tongue laps over. Wanting to make this last as long as I possibly can for him, I take his length out of my mouth, letting the cold air rush to fill the void left by my hot mouth, and turn my attention to his balls, which are drawn up tightly to his skin. I know what turns him on. I run my tongue across the surface of the soft sack of skin, before carefully sucking one of the tender nodules of flesh into my mouth, followed by the other.

"Oh... my... God..." he whines, throwing his head back as far as it will go into the pillow. "I can't-"

For Carl, that's the final straw.

After nearly a week, possibly longer, since our last time together, Carl's manhood is a geyser, spraying his come sky high before coming to land on the pale stretch of skin and small patch of hair laying just above his throbbing member. Carl's orgasm rocks him hard, sending his body into almost seizure-like jerks and spasms. Sliding up in the bed, I'm quick to encircle his smaller frame with my strong arms and hold him as he allows the orgasm to roll over him, whispering sweet nothings into his ear as he comes down from his euphoric high.

"Shhhh..." I whisper to him. "I've got you... I've got you."

I honestly expected that to be the end of it.

Carl's body stills and I fully expect him to fall asleep after all the stress that activity has just put his body through. As it turns out, though, I am very, very, _very_ wrong. As soon as he is able to gather his breath back to him, Carl pushes himself up against the mattress, and turns around to face me within my embrace. His fingers come up from his sides to trace the outline of my mandible, allowing me to stare back into the hot coals that his eyes have become. I can still see the need in his expression and, consistent with every other time we've made love, consult his feelings on the matter:

"More?" I question him.

Still hypersensitive, Carl shakily nods his approval, "You did that for me." he says. "Now you. I want _you_."

Well, I'm certainly not going to say no to _that_.

This occasion marks the second time Carl has let me take control of our love making. Usually we take turns fulfilling that role for each other, but the urgency in Carl's voice tells me he needs it, so I spare no time debating with him on how or what he wants to do. He's made it pretty clear what that is. The best part about it is that now that he's gone through his first orgasm, I can take my time teasing him a little bit, so that's exactly what I do. I press a light kiss into the crook of his neck, then trail a gentle cluster of kisses up the side of his neck before reaching his ear, the bottom of which it take between my teeth and lightly nibble on. I love nibbling on Carl's ear. Never really got what the appeal of it was, but I didn't argue with desire when it finally takes hold. It doesn't take Carl long to recover from his orgasm, wriggling his bottom against my still-clothed crotch to stimulate me into giving him what he wants. His renewed display of neediness gives me an idea for how to tease him further.

"Tell me," my voice is a low growl in his ear. "What part you want."

I almost don't recognize the words that come out of my mouth.

Usually, its Carl who does the dirty talk, leaving me the one begging for whatever he has to offer. How nice it is that the foot is on the other shoe this time around. I'm quite enjoying it. At first Carl doesn't verbally respond. I know he knows the answer, but I think he too is taken aback by my sudden display of dominance, and so I fill the gap by gently caressing his body. If at all possible, I want to keep him in my shirt. There is something uniquely sexy about fucking the person you love while they are donning your clothing. When Carl's voice comes again, its back to being shaky, quivering with the weight of the desire behind it.

"Anything." he hisses. "Everything. Just-" he momentarily loses the words forming in his mouth, instead arching his back against my torso, which allows the crevice of his ass to capture my jean-covered length and rub seductively along it. That alone is almost enough to drive me to the edge of my sanity, but I'd rather wait and hear what he has to say before acting on it. "God, Tanner... Please, just anything!" he croaks out finally.

That's enough for me.

Wriggling down in the sheets for a second time, I find myself face-to-face with Carl's backside, the cheeks of which I quickly spread apart. Many times now, while on runs, Carl has offered to find and bring back a tube of lube to do this with, so that I wouldn't have to prep him this way, but I truly enjoy this method better. I drink up the sharp gasp Carl lets out every time my tongue brushes the rosy bud of his entrance. This time, not only does he gasp, but goosebumps form along the smoothness of his skin, and he shivers with desire. I can't help the grin that curls across my lips, but quickly ignore it to tend to prepping my love. Completely focused on pleasing him again, my tongue laps over his entrance again, and again, and again. I can taste his skin, taste the salty sweat that had formed there earlier, while I was focused on sucking him off. I take it all in as I continue to kiss, suck, and lick him thoroughly. After some time, I finally take one of my fingers and slowly push it into his entrance, all the while lapping just above it with my tongue, to ease the initial burn of penetration. Carl hiss at first, but eventually sinks back onto my finger, aching to be filled by something.

"How's this?" I whisper against his skin as I work the sole finger in and out of him.

"Gngh!" he grunts in response. "An.. another!"

I grin again, "Yes, love."

This continues through the second and the third finger until Carl is stretched enough to where I'm sure what's to come will be pleasurable for him. As I make quick work of the button of my jeans, kicking aside both pants and underwear, before aligning myself with my lover, a thought comes to mind and I'm coaxed to verbally engage him one last time before indulging his desires.

"So," my breath dusts his ear. "Still think you're bad to look at?"

I could high five myself for the genius of this move.

With this, I can finally drive my point home. That nothing on this planet could ever make me think less of him. Certainly not an injury he did nothing to deserve. A devilish grin curls across Carl's face and he presses his bare, moist backside into my painfully hard length to return the teasing every so slightly. I'll take that as a resounding "_no_". Finally giving in to him, relenting from teasing him any further, I line myself up with him, pressing the tip of my length right into the head of his opening, with a slight whimper of permission from Carl, push passed his clenched sphincter and into the glorious, heated cavern of his ass. I bottom out in him quickly, balls resting heavily against the curve of his backside. I allow Carl a moment to adjust and to get ready. He wordlessly eggs me on when he is by rolling his hips against me. At long last, I let go of all of my restraints, all of my qualms, and give him fully what he's been begging me for since the beginning. I fuck into Carl hard and fast, our skin slapping against each other's audibly. As I dominate the one I love, I wrap my nearest arm protectively around him, allowing me to both cradle him lovingly, and hold him closer to me.

"God!" Carl cries out suddenly. "...Right there!"

Clearly, my hardened length has struck the bundle of nerves that is Carl's prostate, sending his entire body into a blitz of spasms that I can feel from within him. Now that I know what I'm aiming for, I tighten my grip around him and plow into him with every last bit of my strength, causing him to rock helplessly against me. Luckily for us, our bed is fairly silent, even while rocking like this, otherwise we may as well have woken everyone on the block. Carl eventually gets control of his senses again and begins matching my strokes with backstrokes of his own and then _I'm _the one who has lost control. All I can think of is how much I love the person I have in my arms. How I'd give anything to him, do anything for him, and protect him from all dangers. My hands grab for anything they can, one fumbling with my shirt which is still clinging to him, while the other, previously wrapped around his torso, gently caresses his cheek. Somewhere in the blitz of movement, his hands find the strength to come up, one wrapping around his reawakened length to fist it, while the other finds the hand I have on his cheek, pulling it down against his chest, where his fingers entwine with mine.

For several long minutes we remain like that, Carl rocking against me as I finish us off, and then, as quickly as it began, it was over. I lose control of my body, pleasure finally pushing me over the edge, and I come inside Carl with his name on my lips. During my own seismic orgasm, Carl manages to bring himself off a second time, allowing our bodies to shutter in euphoria against each other while we both await ourselves to settle down. Finally, after what seems like hours, but in reality was only a few seconds, both of our sweaty bodies stop moving and I simply cradle his body against mine, keeping him wrapped in a protective hug that I have no intention of breaking.

Not tonight.

"You okay?" I finally manage to breath out.

Carl shutters in my arm as a deep laugh rolls through his chest.

"That was some celebration, huh?" he snorts jovially.

There is nothing my heart loves more, than to hear the sound of happiness in Carl's voice. Better yet is the knowledge that I helped put it there. That I put the smile on his lips, the laugh in his chest, and joy in his heart.

"I'll say." I chuckle back at him. "Welcome home, Carl."

And so that's how we stay. Carl clad in my shirt, while I wrap my strong arms around him, underneath our own sheets and back in our own bed. With nothing more to say and only each other's company to bask in, we fall asleep in each other's arms, with a smile firmly etched into our faces.

####

Today is the day.

The day we move on Negan.

They day we begin to take back what is ours.

As the sun peeked at its highest point in the sky, Rick gathers the members of all three communities who had arrived to finally put an end to the Saviors' horrific hold on our world. The location of this gathering is the gates of Alexandria, where three years ago, my group came through looking for a safe haven where we could finally settle down and call home. Now, that home is threatened, and along with it, everything and everyone that we love and hold dear. Carl and I stand hand-in-hand next to Michonne and the others as Rick, standing atop a large passenger bus, barks out the speech meant to prepare the three-community-army for the coming battle with Negan.

"Listen up!" the older Grimes bellows over the amassed crowd in his thick Georgian accent. "I know I haven't asked much from a lot of most of you! You've been allowed to live here without any expectations of giving anything in return! But now our home, our friends, our family, our very way of life is threatened! If we allow this to continue, our lives here could **end**! We have to do something about that... and I need the help of everyone here to accomplish it! You know the danger that stands before us and I thank each and everyone of you for the sacrifices you have made and the risks you're willing to take! Be prepared! We're starting down a path, and I don't know how long it will take, or where it goes, but I know that it ends in a good place. A better place for us and our families! I need you all ready to defend this place and everyone in it! I know none of us are soldiers! We're farmers... lawyers... doctors... teachers... police... but until this is over, let's keep this to ourselves!"

Having said his piece, Rick Grimes hops down off of the bus, and immediately approaches where we're standing.

"Are you both certain you want to come?" he questions, parental concern taking over. "You can always stay and defend this place."

Carl and I regard each other with a final glance.

Then a smile.

We both know.

This is our home now. We won't let _anyone _take it away from us. But that means we both have to fight for it no matter what the cost. With that thought firmly in our minds, Carl and I nod in unison.

"We're sure, Dad." Carl replies, speaking for us both.

"Yeah," I agree. "We've got it covered."

Rick nods, taking a brief moment to look us over. Perhaps the gravity of this situation is finally starting to hit him. I know it is hitting all of us. I've never been in a fight this big before. Carl has had experience, with the prison, the Governor. For me, this is all new territory, but I'm willing to do my part. Clutching my sword tightly in my hand, I prepare to fight for everything I've gained since meeting Carl on that fateful day. Protect our home, our way of life, our friends, our family, and most importantly of all... protect _him_. Michonne offers me a consoling pat on the shoulder. I'm happy to have her, my best friend, Carl, the one I love more than anything, and Rick, the man whose been more of a father to me than my own father ever was, in this fight for our community. With them, I know its possible, no matter what horrors lie ahead of us in this conflict.

"Alright then." Rick finally says. "Let's roll."

* * *

**A/N: And so it begins! All Out War with Negan and the Saviors commences with the next chapter! Also, I realize I had a pretty steamy scene in this one xD This story is Rated M for a reason, and believe me, that scene was planned, but its been awhile since I last put one in here (11 chapters I think, that's quite awhile!) so I felt it was okay to include. Carl and Tanner were very much in need of a romance scene before the big fight begins. With this chapter, I can safely say that this story will fall between 25 and 35 chapters upon completion, leaning more towards 30, but we'll see how this "War arc" plays out between the Saviors and Rick's group. As the war commences, remember, no one is safe and anything could happen! I do hope you all enjoyed this chapter and hope you continue to enjoy as the story reaches its climax!**

**I've got one review to address!**

**IamwhoIam987: I'm glad you felt the tension that came with that scene. I wanted to make it clear just how much Tanner's mindset was changing and how confronting Carl's shooter would affect his state of mind. Hope this chapter was just as enjoyable! Thank you much! :)**

**Alright guys, keep the comments and reviews coming!**

**See you all with the next one!**

**Later!**


	19. The Winter War Commences!

The first snow of winter falls that day.

With it comes a freezing chill in the air, rendering fallen leaves crisp, and the grass under our feat bejeweled with frost.

The combined forces of Alexandria, Hilltop, an the Kingdom - mainly consisting of men and women who volunteered to protect their homes - have assembled on a hilltop with a clear overview of the crumbling metropolis of Washington D.C. The Sanctuary where Negan and his Saviors call home is only a few miles from here and Rick decided to get us all together to go over our plan of action one final time. There is palpable tension in the frigid air as Rick bellows out the plan. Carl and I don't listen, however. We've heard Rick say this over and over again, so we step outside the group and linger near the edge of the hill, gazing out at the desolate ruins of Washington in deep thought. Howling wind races through the hillside, biting at any skin left exposed by clothing that lacks full protection against it. Three years ago, on our way to Alexandria for the first time, Carl and I had stood in a similar spot overlooking the city. I can remember just how much fear and turmoil I felt when I first saw the city's defiled ruins spread out before me, reminiscing to a time when I'd seen the city as a vibrant hub of life, back before the plague reduced the human race to a handful. Now I could only stand and stare at the shell of the former capital of the United States with pitiful indifference.

Forefront on my mind is memories of when Negan took me captive. I remember the route he used to bring me to his factory and so retracing those steps is bringing a particularly bad taste to my mouth. Next to me, Carl is expressionless, likely thinking along the same lines as I am. Unlike me, however, he's had combat experience. I wonder if he feels the same well of anxiety within him that I do. Whatever the case, I must have allowed my gaze to linger on him for a little bit too long, because he notices my stare and quickly turns to address me.

"You okay?"

Even Carl's voice is indifferent. I know he's genuinely concerned about me, but mentally preparing himself for the battle to come has brought out a colder side of his personality that I haven't seen in quite some time. I take a moment to assess his demeanor, then glance down at my feet, sighing with a visible cloud of hot breath spraying into the cold air in front of me.

"I'll be fine." I lie.

Truth is I won't be fine until Negan is dead and Carl and I can sleep peacefully knowing he won't be able to hurt our family and friends ever again.

"Are you holding up okay?" I turn the question back on him.

I hope that by doing so, Carl won't catch my lie, but he knows me better than that. Not to mention, I should know by now that I suck at lying. I _especially _suck at lying to Carl. The instant I ask the question, I see his remaining eye narrow contemplatively at me. For an instant, Carl looks like a hardened solider. His jacket is in tatters from overuse, bandages wrapped tightly around his lost eye, and faded sheriff's hat clinging tightly to his still rather small head. He's grown so much from the fifteen year old boy I met in that neighborhood all those years ago. Not just physically either. Mentally and emotionally, Carl is a much more mature person now than he was then. Just these comparisons alone cause a soft smile to tug its way across my face.

"Sorry," I suddenly blurt out before he can respond. "I shouldn't lie to you. I'm... nervous. Very nervous."

Carl gives me an inquisitive stare, as if somehow confused by my sudden change of heart, but then allows himself to smile gently as well.

"Yeah," he replies at last. "Me too."

The inflection in his voice splinters my heart. I can hear the turmoil festering inside of him. It would be subtle enough, to anyone who doesn't know Carl as intimately as I do, that no one outside of myself would pick it up. However, just like he can with me, I know Carl too well to not pick up on his subtle signals of distress. Being his romantic companion in life, I cannot help the overwhelming urge to comfort Carl, and so, acting on that instinct, I cross the short distance between us and wrap him in a tight hug. He responds in kind, leaning into me, which allows me to support his full weight: a small, almost subconscious act of trust that always reminds me that, no matter how full of angst Carl can sometimes be, he trusts me enough to hold his limp form in my arms without allowing any harm to come to him. In the distance, I can still hear Rick talking to the others. That's fine with me. Even though I know we cannot delay the fight against the Saviors, I silently wish to myself that Rick would continue talking all day, so that I can simply continue to hold on to Carl and ease his growing fear.

"You don't have to be worried." Carl eventually mumbles into my chest. "Whatever happens will happen."

I fight to contain a snort of laughter.

"That doesn't exactly ease my fears, Carl." I reply with a smirk. At least he tried. "I'm honored to fight alongside you again. I just..."

"Go on." he encourages me. "Spit it out. You just, what?"

I sigh.

Carl is relentless whenever he suspects I may be holding something back. No point in shrugging this one off.

"I just fear losing the best thing to ever happen to me."

_Wow, Tanner... _I think to myself. _Could you sound anymore cheesy?_

Cheesy though it may be, however, it is the honest truth. I wish I could have the same demeanor Carl does going into situations like this. That whatever happens will happen. Its not who I am, though. I am, by nature, someone who wants to prevent loss: especially of something as precious to me as Carl is. For him there is no replacement. He is a one-of-a-kind diamond and I refuse to give him up to some food-snatching murderer like Negan. Luckily for me, Carl is used to my cheesy means of conveying my feelings, and is actually somewhat receptive of them. In this instance, he takes a gambit of being seen by his father and the others, standing just a few feet away from us, leaning up to press several small, but lingering, kisses along the base of my neck.

"You won't." he tries to assure me.

I wish it were that simple.

That with two words he could promise me that nothing would happen to him and it'd be so. We both know, however, that life doesn't work quote that easily. That doesn't stop me from increasing the strength of the hug he's enveloped in and pressing a kiss of my own into his forehead, just underneath the hem of his hat.

"We'd better get back." I remark after another moment. "Your dad will be wanting to pull out again any moment."

With a longing sigh, Carl nods in agreement.

At last we break our embrace, something I immediately regret, and I begin to walk back towards where we'd left our group. It takes me only a split moment to realize that Carl is hanging back, watching as I depart. I stop on a dime and turn myself to shoot him an inquisitive glance, wondering what the hold up is. Carl stares blankly back at me for several seconds before his facial expression softens and he addresses me:

"Tanner?"

"Yes?" I inquire, curious as to why his demeanor suddenly changed.

"I love you." he recites the three words I've come to love most in this world.

Warmth rushes from inside my chest and I cannot contain the toothy smile that bursts from a once stoic face. As it turns out, I'm not the only one who knows which buttons to push when the situation calls for it. Carl is quite the master himself. And so, locking the feeling of love and adoration I have for him deep within my heart, to use as fuel and strength for the coming battle, I respond to him, as I always have, with the same words he's heard over and over again, but which have never lost their meaning:

"I love you too, Carl."

####

My stomach is churning.

The sight of the Savior's factory is anything but pleasant. It hasn't changed in the slightest, even despite the herd moving through, since I was last here. The outside perimeter is still caked with walkers, which lurch hungrily, yet in vain against the chains that hold them in place. Anticipation hangs in the air like a dense fog, encircling and gripping each and every person assembled for the Savior's base. For some, this is the moment they've been waiting for. The moment to finally put an end to the monsters that have kept them all trapped in a world of fear and death. For others, however, this is their worst nightmare. For them, the factory before us is the gates of Hell itself, and inside lurks Satan and his fallen angels. Rick wastes no time in alerting Negan to our presence. If we wait any longer, the Saviors could spot us first and attack, leaving us blind-sighted. Raising his gun to the grey winter sky, Rick fires a single shot, which echoes loudly in my head, shattering the silence around us. Tension mounts as the survivors around me prepare for the battle to come. Next to me, Michonne tightens her grip on her katana, eyes focused solely on the factory before us, like a predator watching its prey.

Carl is similarly serious, gun ready to take the first shots, only he humors me with one last nod of acknowledgement. A subtle way of letting me know he's ready, but that he's here for me.

I'm glad he is.

I'm not sure I could do this without him.

"Negan!" Rick barks, voice echoing into the barren woods around us. "Show yourself!"

It doesn't take long for the monster to show himself.

Appearing at one of the balcony windows, the imposing form of Negan looms like doom over the survivors that have come to see to his end personally. The leader of the Saviors, to my slight shock, doesn't seem in the least bit surprised by the massive number of armed survivors at his gates. If anything, Negan appears flustered and annoyed, which doesn't give me any hopeful vibes. Had he been expecting us to rise up and fight back? The nefarious gangster mutters an expletive under his breath, clearly not pleased with the sight before him.

"What the fuck is this, Rick?!" he finally calls back. "Are you tryin' to play 'My Dick is Bigger than Your Dick'? Because I assure you... it isn't."

"This isn't that at all!" Rick barks back, his tone is ever defiant. "We stand before you - three communities united - to send you a message, loud and clear. _Enough!_ We're done giving you our supplies. We will no longer bow to your will and let you kill our people! Those days are **_over_**!I'll give you one chance to surrender and walk away from this without bloodshed. Don't mistake this for mercy. I know you have women and others in there. People who aren't part of your Saviors. If anything, I wish to spare them completely!"

I know this is a ruse.

There is no way Negan will accept peace and Rick knows it too. The conversation taking place now is nothing more than a formality before the bloodshed.

"And what of the others, eh, Rick?" Negan retorts defiantly. "What of the fuckin' killers?"

"You kill," Rick declares. "You die."

There is a brief, but ever so tense pause between the two leaders, followed by Negan breaking into a loud, booming laugh.

"Let me get this fuckin' straight." he barks. "I surrender myself and my men, you fuckers put us all to death, but the women get to live on peacefully with you? You honestly fucking think we're going to go with that, Rick? What happens if I refuse?"

Rick doesn't back down for even a moment.

"Everyone you see out _here_ busts in _there_ and then what happens can be left to your imagination." the senior Grimes replies coldly. "And I can promise you it won't be pretty."

Negan's laughter resumes, this time more hearty, causing the blood in my veins to boil. He isn't even taking Rick seriously. Negan is the height of arrogance. The likes of which, I've never seen.

"You fuckers have actually convinced yourself that your group of misfits, fags," that one stings. "Lawyers, accountants, and farmers is going to be able to smash through these walls and kill us? Accomplish anything?! That's fucking rich! I'm half tempted to let your half-assed little plan play out... to show you just how goddamn stupid it is, but where'd be the fucking fun in that? No, no, no. Surrender just isn't a motherfucking option. But, then again, rubbing our collective genitals together on the battlefield really isn't either, now is it?"

Like the rest of us, Rick expected this response.

Negan is so enraptured in his own arrogant rebuttal, that he fails to notice Jesus and Ezekiel approach Rick from either side. Carl and I are standing close enough to Rick that I can hear their suppressed voices, even despite Negan's loud bellowing.

"Get ready." he tells them. "He's doing exactly as we predicted."

"I have a different plan." Negan continues oblivious. "I'll give all of you sons of bitches one chance to defect to my side! Those that don't, we'll fucking slaughter, with the rest of the traitorous bastards! C'mon, you fucks! You have one chance and I ain't a patient man!"

Now that one I didn't expect.

Negan doesn't strike me as the type to accept defectors, but then again, the man is hardly predictable. I quickly glance around at the rest of my fellow survivors, looking to anyone for a response to Negan's offer. Our side is completely still. No one so much as flinches the wrong way. If that doesn't send a clear message to the villain, nothing will. No one will be joining him this day. He's caused too much pain and death.

Today is the day all of that ends.

I expect that to be the end of the talking. Its quite clear that nothing more can be said to convince the other side. Only bloodshed and violence can accomplish that now, sad as it is for me to admit that. But Negan isn't done targeting our crowd, which is why I'm surprised when the devilish man locks gazes with me, causing the hairs on the back of my neck to stand completely on end. Next to me, Carl seems to notice the shift in the moods between the two of us, and tenses in response. Whether a defensive mechanism, for my sake, or a natural reaction to such an evil man directing his attention towards me, I can't quite determine.

"What about you, Tanner?" the crime lord barks down at me. "You really willing to throw that little queer of a boyfriend away over a fucking war you can never hope to win?!"

His sudden interest in me is chilling.

Now he's made it personal between us. Not that it ever wasn't. I suddenly feel all eyes on me, and, for the first time, I feel no embarrassment: only heightened anger.

"Don't ever call Carl a 'queer' in front of me again!" I snap back in response, loud enough to echo over the distance between us. "There's no way I'd ever join the prick responsible for the deaths of two of my friends. Least of all the one who's men nearly killed my spouse. You're going down, Negan! I'll fucking make sure of it!"

With that out, there is certainly nothing more to say.

The decision has been made.

All that remains is for someone to fire the first shot and the anticipation is killing me. Above us, Negan angrily shakes his head. I'm surprised he actually expected that ploy to work. Next to me, Carl uses his free arm to lightly rub the crook of my back, a wordless means of support and approval for the words I just spoke on his behalf. For the second time that day, I am eternally grateful that he is next to me here. His small gesture of affection in the face of overwhelming brutality is heartwarming and soul-lifting.

"Well then, Rick," Negan cries out angrily. "I've considered your kind offer and I think that the answer is somewhere in between 'no motherfucking way' and 'go fucking fuck yourself.' Boys! Kill them all!"

The first shot rings out.

An explosion of blood in front of me tells me that it certainly didn't come from our side. Snipers! The man, a resident of the Hilltop, drops dead instantly, and the battle officially commences. The combined forces of Alexandria, Hilltop, and the Kingdom scatter as gunshots begin to ring out in the courtyard, seeking refuge behind the bus we had used to get us here, as well as the trees which surround the entirety of the perimeter. There is a loud metallic _PING_ as shots ricochet of the metal hull of the bus and into the snow clustering on the ground at our feet. In the flurry of movement, Carl and I are separated from Rick, who seems to have darted off in the direction of the woods. Adrenaline takes over, my heart racing, lungs speeding up their respiration. Next to me, Carl peeks around the corner of the bus and fires two clean shots into the chest of an emerging Savior.

That's my Carl.

"Watch the windows for snipers!" I call out to him over the gunfire.

In the distance, I can make out Daryl, hidden behind a larger tree stump, picking off Saviors with his crossbow. I have to give it to the redneck, he is closer to the action than the rest of us, and is doing a damn fine job of it too. Somewhere behind me I hear the distinctive voice of Ezekiel bark out for his men to focus "up top". Sure enough, some of Negan's snipers start dropping off the side of the building like flies as gunfire redirects itself to his sharpshooters. That isn't to say that we were winning. Our causalities were just as horrific, if not worse. Negan's people are certainly no amateurs and that shows in their superior gunfighting tactics. But that isn't even the worst of it. The sudden explosion of noise has caused the chained up walkers around Negan's home to go absolutely ballistic. Snarling with renewed hunger, the undead pull relentlessly at their restraints, ferociously fighting to get free and join in the bloodbath.

That's when an idea hits me.

"Everyone!" I shout out loudly. "Aim for the chains holding the walkers back!"

"Are you crazy?!" the ever familiar voice of Glenn shouts out from beside me, against the bus. "They'll turn on us too!"

"At first, yes!" I shout back over earsplitting gunfire. "But we'll use that to our advantage! Get their gore all over you and they'll think of us as fellow walkers!"

I admit, its a bit of a risky plan, but one that can easily turn the tide of this fight.

I remember how the walkers reacted when Michonne and I once chained them up and used them as a deterrent. Carl had also once informed me that getting their guts on you acts as camouflage. If that is true, then the walkers won't attack us, only the Saviors. Furthermore, it will get rid of the undead defenses around the Saviors's base, allowing us safer access when it finally comes time to storm the place.

"Pass it around!" I command to him. "Its our best shot!"

Without waiting on Glenn, I immediately turn to Carl to seek his approval.

My love merely nods his response and wastes no time turning his aim on the walkers' chains. To make things better, my suggestion spreads through the fighters like a wildfire, and before long, shots are raining down on the walker infested fences of the Saviors' factory. Metal clanks loudly as chains and other restraints on the noisy cadavers are violently torn off, allowing the mutilated corpses freedom at last. It doesn't take long for the monsters to do what they've done for the past five years. All of the sudden, the battlefield is turned into a feeding frenzy. Walkers swarm the area, searching out any and all fresh sources of flesh. Our side immediately has our solution underway, while the Saviors scramble to avoid the horde of undead cadavers gnashing at them to satisfy their unquenchable hunger.

"Mich!" I shout out to Michonne, who is hunkered down not too far from Carl and I.

This is the moment the two of us have been waiting for.

Michonne and I are short range fighters. With our swords, it is impractical for us to do anything other than take cover while the Saviors have such heavy fire power. That advantage, however, is no longer there's. With the walkers now loose, gunfire is directed at them, allowing Michonne and I the ability to join the fray on the front lines. I immediately train my sights on a nearby walker, delivering a powerful horizontal slash to its abdomen, spraying decaying blood and guts onto me. The gunk is warm and revolting to smell, but five years of dealing with walkers and I'm used to it. Michonne follows my lead, gutting another nearby corpse in order to douse herself in the gory substance. Firing two shots at approaching walkers, Carl comes to my side and, without hesitation, dips his hands into the fallen corpse I slew, covering himself in walker entrails and blood. With this, we're immune to the walkers and can focus on killing Saviors.

"You seen Dad?!" Carl shouts out, aiming another shot towards a Savior trying to escape a pair of female cadavers.

"No!" I reply. "Not yet!"

I haven't seen Rick Grimes since the shooting started.

I presume he's with the others fighting in the trees.

Fleeing from another cluster of walkers, a Savior accidentally stumbles into us, forcing me to act on instinct and carve a slash through his upper torso and into his neck. The man staggers back in shock, allowing the walkers to seize him and sink their decaying teeth into his flesh. The man releases a blood-gurgling scream, thanks to his wounds, and is promptly dragged down by the corpses who then proceed to devour him on site. Suddenly, from behind, I'm struck in the back by an extremely hard, blunt object, knocking me off my balance and sending me hard into the freezing cold earth below.

"Tanner!?" I hear Carl cry out from somewhere.

I see the source instantly.

My attacker is a larger Hispanic Savior, wearing a large, tattered, leather biker's jacket and torn jeans. The man is holding some manner of pipe in his hands, which I assume to be the weapon the struck me. My back throbs with immense pain, but I don't think anything is broken. Carl raises his gun to shoot, however, two more Saviors show themselves, forcing him to shoot at them rather than my attacker. The lumbering Savior raises his pipe to me again, swinging down hard in an attempt to crack my skull wide open. Luckily for me, despite my pain, my reflexes are still better than ever, and I am able to parry his blow with blinding speed, holding the pipe at arm's length. The Savior doesn't give up there, however, much to my dismay. Instead, the lumbering oaf pushes down against my sword, driving it closer and closer to my chest, hoping to disarm me and kill me with the opening.

He never gets the chance.

A heart-stopping roar beside me, like a great dragon descending from above, catches us both off guard, and I'm only able to see a blur as the Savior is violently torn off of me. In that same moment, a dark-skinned hand reaches down for mine, and I instinctively take it, allowing it to help me to my feet. The source of my aid is none other than Ezekiel and the culprit of my rescue is Shiva, the Bengal tiger herself. The massive feline predator finds herself firmly atop the Savior, viciously tearing into his flesh even as he screams out for mercy and an end to his misery. To my great surprise, Ezekiel too wields a sword, though one much smaller than my own. Quick observation reveals it to have been once hidden in his cane.

A _shikomizue_!

"Thanks!" I shout gratefully out to him.

"Don't thank me!" Ezekiel responds with a large smile. "Shiva came to your rescue. She must have taken quite a liking to you!"

A tiger just saved my life.

I never thought that would be among the experiences I would go through in life, but I'm no less astounded and thankful.

"Our losses are too great!" Ezekiel calls back to me. "We need to pull back and regroup!"

I nod my approval and immediately search my surroundings for Carl. I find him easily, standing not too far from me, launching another volley of gunfire at retreating Saviors. I'm quick to join him at his side and then, together, the two of us make a break for the bus. There, we find a very visibly exhausted Michonne, an injured Abraham, and a bloodied up Glenn and Maggie. All are alive, but don't seem to be in the best of conditions. My training as a medic immediately kicks in and I rush to their aid.

"Who's hurt the most?" I direct at Maggie, who seems to be the most healthy of the four.

"Abraham!" she gasps loudly in her Southern accent. "He was hit twice!"

_Not good..!_

Abraham it is. The large ginger man is quite visibly in pain, clutching his side with a bloody hand, even though the second wound in his shoulder looks equally as prominent and painful. I check him for exit wounds, but, to my dismay, only find one in the wound from his shoulder. That means the bullet that struck his side is lodged inside and could be causing a lot of damage at this very moment.

"We have to get him back!" I declare. "Denise needs to surgically remove this bullet!"

"We can't!" Glenn protests. "We're pinned down!"

"Not quite!" Carl interjects, keeping watch by peeking carefully around the side of the bus. "Negan and his men are pulling back into the woods!"

"Seriously?!" I exclaim.

Sure enough, Negan and his Saviors are indeed slipping off into the woods on the other side of their sanctuary, with walkers in hot pursuit. What could possibly make the Saviors bail like that? They aren't the type for surrender and its not like they were losing, all things considered. Still, if Negan runs, that gives us time to regroup, tend to our wounded, and go after him. Perhaps its a blessing after all. Abraham does need medical treatment, after all. Without warning, Ezekiel rounds the corner of the bus, Shiva, her beard now stained with the blood of the Savior she just finished eating, in hot pursuit.

"Load the bus!" he barks out. "They're pulling back! We need to regroup as well!"

I'm not about to argue with that.

"Wait!" Carl exclaims. "Where's Dad?!"

Thinking quickly, I scan the walker-ridden battlefield for Rick Grimes.

No sign of him.

"Son of a bitch." I curse under my breath, suddenly standing to my full height.

"Where are you going?" Michonne questions me, her face bloody from the walker gore sprayed on her earlier.

"We can't leave without Rick." I reply to her. "Carl and I will go find him. You guys load up!"

To my surprise, no one argues with me. I turn to Carl, who simply nods his approval, and the two of us dart out from behind the bus. By now, the gunshots have ceased. With our walker-gore-covered bodies, the cadavers pay us no heed, searching instead for the Saviors who just escaped their maw. The battlefield is covered with new corpses. The dead of both our side and the Saviors alike, both those who have yet to turn, and those completely unable, cover the snowy courtyard in a truly grotesque sight to behold.

Even still, the more unsettling matter was the lack of Rick Grimes. Neither Carl nor I have succeeded in finding him so far, leading to a million questions racing through my head. Did he go after them? Was he hurt? Surely he'd have emerged and said something by now. That is just Rick's nature. Carl even tries, in vain, to call out to him. The two of us are about to circle back to the bus to see if he has perhaps seen everyone loading up and headed that way, when a sudden movement catches Carl's attention from just off to our side. Carl recognizes the source of the movement and immediately spins around on the ball of his heel, relief sweeping over his face like a tidal wave.

"Dad, thank Go-''

Carl's voice suddenly goes eerily cold.

I turn to see just what it is that is bothering him so, still smiling myself after hearing him recognize Rick. My smile quickly fades though. Carl's chest violently heaves and I do the only thing I know I can do. Closing the distance between us before he can get too dangerously close, I reach out and grab Carl around his slim waist, pulling him hard back into me and away from the approaching danger. I feel heat in my eyes. Stinging, watery heat, even as Carl falls apart in my arms, still fighting to get to the lumbering figure that now approaches us. Time seems to move slowly, like one of those dramatic scenes in the old thriller movies. Only, this time, there is no getting up and leaving the theater when its over. This time it is reality and my heart shatters in that moment. The figure that lumbers out at us wears a tattered navy jacket, complete with a fur-lined collar. The shirt showing just underneath is that of a plain white t-shirt, one I've gotten used to seeing. It has on a set of dark, navy jeans, but its most distinguishing feature is its face.

Graying beard lining its mandible, and encircling its mouth.

Unkempt grayish-brown hair atop its head.

Its eyes, once a vibrant cobalt, have turned into a misty blue; glazed over with the physical effects of death.

By this point, Carl has stopped resisting me and is now loudly, violently sobbing into my chest. All noise in my ears now, however, is white noise. I blank out our surroundings. The walker doesn't see us as an enemy, nor do its hundreds of undead brethren surrounding us, but I still feel the sudden urge to step back further away from it, Carl still tightly clutched within my embrace. Static. All I can hear is static. The world itself ceases to exist around us in that moment. For that one, indescribably painful moment, dragging on for what seems like forever, only Carl, myself, and the walker exist. And as the tears burst from my eyes and I, along with Carl, collapse to my knees in agony, I know the the heart-wrenching, terrible truth:

The walker standing before us, is Rick Grimes...

...the one and only.

* * *

**A/N: I truly don't have any words that can properly follow that ending, so I'll let you fill the gaps yourself. I'm sure many of you have questions. Rest assured they will all be answered in due time. Sometimes, shock value demands vagueness and this chapter is one such example. Be patient with me :3 I promise there is a reason for everything and all will be revealed in its own time. Now, one question I know I'll be asked eventually is, why Rick? He's the main character of TWD and a huge character in this story. Why him? I'll answer that question now. Rick has fulfilled his role in my stories. He became the father figure Tanner never had, was the second one to accept he and Carl's relationship, and finally accepted them both as men and as contributing members of the group. There are other, story-related reasons, but I can't reveal them yet, or I'll spoil something. Rest assured, though, that I have my reasons and his death wasn't something I just threw in there. Its been planned, though that didn't make it any easier for me to write. Initially, I was going to show his death scene, but figured this would be more memorable, so that's the scene we got in the end. Now the true question is this: Where does Carl go from here? His mother is dead, now so too is his father, whom we all know to be his rock. Can Tanner step up and take on that role now? Does he have what it takes? And who will fill the void left by Rick's leadership? How will Rick's departure affect the other characters, including his other child, little Judith?**

**Again I tell you, all these answers and more are approaching as the series comes to its climax! Despite the tragedy, I hope this chapter was enjoyable. Please leave thoughts and comments. I know this death will be controversial, but don't kill me! XD The story comes first and I promise this was necessary. Either way, I'm eager to hear what you all think!**

**Now, onto the reviews!**

**Guest: Thank you! I love you and all of you guys! Best readers ever!**

**aylamae: Carl and Tanner are capable of dirtiness, but its all in good fun. They enjoy each other's love, so its only natural for them to express it sexually, as well as romantically. One of the things I really try to stress with This Cruel Reality and This Sorrowful Life, in that regard, is that sex is a natural thing. Two people who love each other are inclined to do it, for a lot of various reasons, and I think society wrongfully makes the subject taboo. That being said, I always keep the scenes at a minimal because I want them to happen naturally, and sensibly, like they would in real life. I really am happy to hear you like their pairing that much! :) Sometimes, when I'm watching the show, and I see Carl really down and out, I wish Tanner was there to comfort him, so I make sure to write those scenes (and more) into the stories. Carl deserves some love too, and before Michonne became his friend, I thought he was severely lacking it. Thanks for your review :)**

**IamwhoIam987: I hope I didn't disappoint! Thank you :)**

**tentails: I hope I didn't disappoint! This chapter was definitely action packed! As to the question of a sequel to this one? Probably not. I could write about Tanner and Carl for years, but This Cruel Reality and This Sorrowful Life tell their tale, as I envision it, well enough that I don't think there needs to be a sequel. This should be the last installment, but you never know. I am open minded and I never say "no, definitely not", because things happen, new ideas are born, and I never want to close my mind to those opportunities. Long story short, though, for now, I'm saying "no" because these two stories have done a good job at telling their tale. Thanks :)**

**Thank you all for your kind words and comments!**

**Can't wait to hear from you guys about this one! **

**Until the next one, folks!**

**Later!**


	20. Course of Action

Disbelief.

That word alone is not powerful enough to encompass the feeling that rules my body right now. My grief-controlled mind simply will not allow any other word to form. Is this some sort of sick joke? A night terror Carl will soon awaken me from, only for me to find myself in a pool of sweat? Would he then comfort me? Assure me that it was just a nightmare? Maybe a kiss to reassure me before we both slip back off into our sleep? No. This is real. Carl cannot comfort me, cannot wake me from the nightmare of this reality. He cannot do so because Carl is currently wrapped in my arms, face contorted in the worst sort of anguish, crying out in grief and pain; his body violently shuttering against my own. No, Carl cannot comfort me and, regrettably, I cannot hope to comfort him. The pain that is slamming through his chest at the moment, I imagine, is unbearable.

Rick Grimes is dead.

How and why are unknowns to us. Sometime during the battle against Negan, Rick had vanished from both of our sights, and when we had again found him, he was already turned. Tears of disbelief and sorrow streak down my own dirty face. I do not remember crying for the loss of my own parents like this, when that realization had finally hit me years ago. So why? Of course, the answer is immediately apparent. Rick had done so much more for me than even my own parents had. My parents had given me life. Rick Grimes had preserved it. I owe him my life many times over and yet, in the end, I have failed him as well. Unable to protect him from the horrible fate that is lumbering towards Carl and I now.

Suddenly, sound returns to my ears. My mind, though still racked by grief, begins to clear. I know what has to happen now. What must always happen. Rick Grimes would never have wanted to become one of those... those _things_. They are everything he stood against. Everything he tried so desperately to protect us all from. Carl's loud sobs draw my attention back to where it needs to be. To him. To my most precious possession on this earth, whose heart is now shattering at the loss of his last remaining parent. Carl will want to be the one to do it. To put his father out of his diseased state; to end the reanimation. And I cannot allow that. Not because of some twisted attachment to Rick that would want to keep him bound to his earthly form.

No.

Nothing quite that sinister.

I cannot allow Carl to be the one to do it because I made a promise.

A promise I intend to keep.

####

1 year, 6 months ago...

_Helping Rick tend to baby Judith is one of my favorite activities at home._

_This particular evening, Carl is not with us, having volunteered to take the night shift watching the wall. That means that I will be sleeping alone tonight, something I dread probably a little more than I should. Therefore, I am looking for any little chore to keep my mind occupied for the time being. Helping Rick care for Judith, Carl'ls little sister, sounds to me like the prefect way to do so. The infant Grimes and I get along like siblings now. Fitting, considering I'm her brother-in-law now, though she doesn't know that yet. She's much too young to swallow such concepts just yet. Rick Grimes swaddles his daughter, the younger Grimes cooing in her father's strong arms as he takes her off to her crib, with me in hot pursuit._

_"Just think," I say as we're in transit. "Before you know it, she'll be Carl's age and you'll be beating boys off of her with a stick."_

_Rick smirks at this._

_It is not the first time he has heard someone comment on Judith eventually being old enough to date. I think he welcomes such talk. Most fathers, back in the old days, dreaded their daughters becoming young women. It meant that some young man was going to come by, regardless of his feelings, and sweep her off her feet; forever stealing her away. For Rick Grimes, however, that is hardly the perspective. I imagine he welcomes it because it gives him hope that little Judith will live to see that age. That the community we're building can really keep us safe that long._

_"Let's not rush that." he retorts jokingly, as he always does._

_Its the fatherly thing to say anyways._

_"What about you?" he continues as we round the corner into his room. "Couldn't talk Carl out of taking the night shift?"_

_I snort a laugh at this._

_As if I could! Talking Carl out of anything is like trying to put a fire out with your bare hands. You're going to be in a hell of a lot of pain and will be lucky to escape with third degree burns._

_"I thought that was your job." I joke back at him, smirking as I do. "You _are _his father, after all."_

_Rick lifts his head, an identical smirk of his own curling across his lips._

_"When I tell him 'no'," Rick says. "It only makes him want to do it more. He seems to take your concern more seriously."_

_Touche__._

_"Nah," I wave him off, watching as he lowers Judith gently down into her crib. "He respects you. He may not always say it... or show it..."_

_Rick has to hide a wider smirk at that one._

_"But," I continue. "He thinks the world of you."_

_Rick suddenly regards me seriously. I can feel the shift in his mood. Its not necessarily a cold shift, rather one of curiosity. When I had first gotten to know he and Carl, the two Grimes had a strained relationship. Even now, the two men have their moments where neither one is willing to let the other have the last word on any matter, but they've improved. Despite this, Rick, as he does now, seems to genuinely seek out his son's love and affection. I imagine that he doesn't enjoy the arguments he gets in with Carl, but, being a father, has no choice sometimes._

_"How do you know that?" he asks seriously._

_I respect his mood with a serious mood shift of my own._

_"Rick, if there is anyone on this planet I know well, its your son." I reply with certainty. "In all the time I've known him, every time you two have gotten into it with each other, he always tells me how much he wishes you'd acknowledge him. See him as a man. Your equal. His rebellious nature isn't because he resents you. Its because he wants you to see him for who he is. He wouldn't do that if he didn't respect you. If he didn't crave your approval. He goes about it the wrong way sometimes, but he's just a son who wants the love of his father. That's all."_

_For a moment, an awkward silence ensues between us, as Rick turns back to tending to his daughter; wrapping her in her blanket before turning his attention back to me._

_"In fact," I go on, a new thought arising. "I don't know what he'd ever do if something were to happen to you."_

_That sentiment brings Rick pause. Like a light bulb has gone off in his head. Rick seems to gather his thoughts, momentarily playing with the hem of his soiled white t-shirt. Normally, I'd take that as my cue to leave the room and let him alone to his thoughts, but Rick has me curious, so I wait to hear what is on his mind._

_"If something ever did happen to me," Rick begins._

_I'm quick to cut him off._

_"It won't." I snap sternly. "We're safe here."_

_"But if it does," Rick emphasizes each word to stress his seriousness. "If I... If I'm turned... You have to be the one to put me down. It can't be Carl."_

_My eyes narrow._

_This is not the direction I wanted to go with this conversation.  
_

_"Don't talk like that." I say._

_"Carl already had to put his own mother down." Rick continues, ignoring my pleas for him to stop. "I... I don't want him to have us both weighing on his conscious. Carl is strong, but that is enough to break any mind." He turns back to me. "Promise me, Tanner. If something ever happens to me, it can't be Carl; it has to be you."_

_I bite my lower lip._

_I know, of course, that I have no choice. Rick's logic is sound and I certainly agree. If anything were to happen, Carl shouldn't have to be put through putting down two parents, even though I know he'd want to be the one. Its somewhat touching, in a morbid way, that Rick trusts me enough to make this request of me, though I sorely hope the day never comes where I have to fulfill my promise._

_Still, I know what my responsibility is._

_I have to accept._

_"I don't want to, but..." I reply with a sure nod. "__I promise you, Rick."_

_Rick's face brightens and he rewards me with a slap on the shoulder. _

_My thanks for agreeing._

_"You really are a gentle kid." he finally says, as much _

####

Present Time

By the time my mind returned from its trip into the past, Carl was already beginning to rise to do the deed. His sobs had not stopped, nor had his body ceased trembling, but he knows, just as I know, what must be done. My promise to Rick rooted deeply into my heart, I reach out and grab his wrist, bringing him to a complete stop. Normally, Carl would fight me, would insist that this is his job to do and become angry that I am preventing him from doing it. This time all he can do is turn towards me, eyes filled with salty tears, and look at me with slight confusion as to why I'd stop him. Using my grip on him as leverage, I pull myself into a standing position and force myself to walk in front of him, now standing between himself and the reanimated corpse of his father. The only thing keeping the Rick-thing and the other walkers from attacking us is the walker gore we'd spread on our clothing for camouflage

"What..." Carl chokes through his tears. "What are you doing?"

My sword is already brandished.

That should be answer enough for him. I don't know that I have the words he need to hear right now anyways.

"Tanner," he tries to protest. "I..."

"No." I punch out with my own teary voice. "It can't be you. You've endured so much. Please..." My voice is virtually a sob by this point. "Please, Carl. Let me bear this burden for you."

I don't wait for his answer.

If I do, he'll try to talk me out of it. I have to do this while my resolve is still firm.

Clenching my sword tightly in my hand, I take a step closer, raising the sharpened weapon to finally put an end to Rick's reanimated state. To me, it was like ending an era. The life of a good man who only ever wanted to protect the people he loves has to end here; so tragically. So befitting of a man as great as Rick Grimes was. Behind me, I can hear Carl break out into sobs again. Hear his knees slap the cold earth as he falls and allows gravity to catch him. My resolve weakens, hearing this, but I press on regardless. The Rick-thing hisses at me as I approach, turning its cold, dead gaze to me as I raise my sword above my head. Its just too much. I feel my hand trembling, my teeth grit hard together as a fresh batch of hot tears spill down my cheeks.

_"You really are a gentle kid."_

He'd said that about me.

And now, with those words touching my head, it is almost as though Rick's tormented spirit is coming back to remind me that I didn't want this. I didn't want _any _of this. But I have to do it. I have to do it for Carl. For Judith. Neither one of them could ever deal with knowing their father's body will roam for eternity as a rotting, man-eating corpse. But most of all, I have to do it because I made a promise.

_I promised you...!_

And so, with one final sob of anguish, I swing down, metal connecting with flesh. Blood and brain matter erupts from the wound, but the deed is done. The walker falls. Rick Grimes is finally no more.

My sword clatters uselessly out of my hand to the soft earth beneath me. I can finally free myself. Free the emotions I've been fighting. A loud, childish sob escapes my throat, and then I'm clumsily lumbering back towards Carl. There, I collapse in front of him, pulling his own crying form into a tight hug. To my surprise, he doesn't pull away from me, instead throwing his own arms around me. And there, in that moment, together as a couple and as a family, Carl and I cry our hearts out in each others arms for the man who was a father to him and like a father to me. It won't be long now.

The group will come for us soon.

####

I don't think I can ever recall a time seeing the group in this much distress.

Glenn had been the one to discover Carl and I huddled together, bawling on a field of blood and corpses. It hadn't taken him long to discover Rick's remains laying not to far from us. Now were are back on the road, gathered together outside the bus. Rick's body has been wrapped and is sitting at the very back of the bus used to transport us to Negan's base. Around us, the sounds of sobs rise through those who have survived the first of many battles against Negan. None cry harder, however, than the members of our own group. Seeing Daryl Dixon, a man of almost unlimited fortitude, break down like a child having lost his mother is almost too much to bear. Of course, Michonne too mourns, but she doesn't seem to express it as openly as myself and the others. I don't think she does this purposely. I think she wants to show it. To show just how much losing Rick Grimes meant to her, but she is bound to her sense of obligation; staying strong for Carl and I. To that end, she has wrapped one of her arms around each of us, pulling us close to her as though her motherly instincts compel her to shelter us from our pain.

It is through this anvil of grief that I finally allow myself to admit what my heart has always known:

I love Michonne.

I don't love her the same way I love Carl, obviously, but I love her regardless. As family. As a friend. As a mentor. Ever since I met her, in her own little way, she has gone out of her way to help me, a fellow outcast, feel part of this group and now, to feel like I have someone who's always there for me. For a fleeting instant, I imagine what it would be like to lose her too.

_What if she's next?_

I don't want to live in a reality that encompasses that.

As much as I cling to her, though, I cling tighter to Carl. My hand is gripping his, and his mine, as hard as I possibly can without hurting him. I cannot and will not let go of him. I know I cannot ease the pain of loss he is experiencing right now. I know that I cannot calm the raging storm ravaging his heart. But he will know that I am right here for him; that I'm not going anywhere. The group is ghostly silent for a good time as we all mourn the loss of our great leader and an even greater man. Its Jesus who finally wipes away his own tears and decides to speak up about our current situation.

"So," he mumbles. "What do we do now? Negan will make his next move soon."

"We have to go back and come up with a new plan." Maggie declares. "We have too many wounded. We can't sustain another attack."

"No!" a visibly pained Abraham protests. "Let him get away now and h- _hnngh! _He could attack the settlement."

"We don't even know where he went." Glenn argues, concurring with his wife. "You're hurt, so is Garret and several of the others. We'd be playing right into his hand."

I wince when he says Garret's name. Garret Kyle has changed a lot since the sour day that I first met him. Now a twenty-year old man, whereas I met him when he was between fifteen and sixteen, Garret is a stocky, short-haired young man, with a tan complexion and a much more freckled face than Carl. Under normal circumstances, I'd consider Garret to be a fairly handsome young man, but there is just one problem. Garret is the same person who beat Carl's head against the concrete, back when we first arrived in Alexandria, because he found Carl to be a "faggot". Of course, as you may imagine, that didn't go over well with me, and when I got done with Garret, he had a fractured cheek bone and a broken nose. Ever since then, Garret has avoided me like the Black Death, and I have left him similarly alone. Even his name causes me to cringe. Needless to say, under the circumstances, I'm not too sympathetic that he's been injured, though I try not to let my personal grudge against him cause me to wish him too much ill.

The incessant bickering between Jesus, Maggie, Abraham, and Glenn goes on for several moments until it is made worse when Ezekiel jumps into the middle. This quickly serves as grounds for more to join in, until their voices mesh together in a noise so terrible, I can only describe it as the sound of vultures fighting among themselves over a fresh carcass. In the meantime, Carl remains silent, his gaze fixated on the concrete at his feet, but I can tell just by looking at him that his mind isn't in the present. Its distant, perhaps deep within his memories, or perhaps he is drowning out everything. His hand-in-mine has gone noticeably limp. Closer still, Michonne, like me, seems visibly irritated by the bickering of the others. Regardless, Michonne is a woman who knows how to hold her tongue, as has resorted to regarding them with an icy glare as she continues to listen to both sides argue about a course of action. The grief swelling in my heart, combined with an infinite concern for Carl's well-being, boils into a feverish rage as the other members of the group argue among themselves.

_Of all the times to fight, they pick now?!_

My thoughts are like hot cinders, scorching my brain with intense anger.

As voices among the group continue to rise, so too does my anger, and finally, I reach my boiling point. Unable to listen to this any longer.

"ENOUGH!" I bark loudly, bringing all voices to a sudden halt.

My voice is loud and piercing enough that I manage to startle Michonne and even bring Carl out of his daze. Both regard me with surprise and bewilderment, while the rest of the group is mixed with confusion and intrigue.

"You lot are loud enough to draw every walker in the fucking county!" This is new. I'm not used to addressing the group at all, much less with so much rage in my chest. But I continue on regardless. I need to say this. "Our course of action will never be decided upon with you lot acting like a bunch of fucking children! We're all hurting. We're all grieving in one way or another. So calm down, buck up, and talk to each other like adults."

Carl looks as though he has stepped into an alternate reality.

To him, I imagine, he still sees me as the shy teenager (and even man) I've been around the group as a whole since I first met them. I'd always hated addressing large groups of people, and putting me on the spot in such situations used to be one of Carl's favorite things to do. Clearly, though, this time the circumstances are different. A man, our former leader, is dead and no amount of fighting among ourselves is going to bring him back or make things right. That is the profound impact Rick's death has left on the group. The moment he's absent - really truly absent - the group descends into bickering and infighting. Its not something he'd ever want for the group and certainly not something he'd stand by and allow. Well, neither will I.

"Everyone take a step back." I continue, this time calmer. "Calm down and try this again."

I didn't expect anyone to actually listen to what I had to say, but, to my utter shock and amazement, they do. Looking quite ashamed of themselves, Maggie and Glenn take a step back to talk to one another privately, while Abraham goes silent to tend to his wounds. Both Jesus and Ezekiel, the closest things to leaders we still have, convene quietly among themselves as well. The rest of the group is reduced to low whispers about the argument and recent events and I go back to tending to Carl. I think that'll be it. That the group will take a moment to talk and then go back to debating our next move. Instead, Daryl Dixon, who until this point, had remained entire silent, approaches and takes me by the shoulder, motioning to the side as an indication that he wishes to speak to me. With a reluctant look towards Carl, I accept his invitation and walk away towards the back of the bus, where no one else was gathered.

"Sorry about the outburst." I tell him once we're alone, thinking that is the reason he pulled me aside. "I let my anger get the best of me."

"Don't be." the soft spoken redneck replies. "Had to be said."

I give him a silent nod.

"What did you want to talk about?"

"Nothin' in particular." he replies. "Jus' seein' how you're holdin' up."

"Same as you, I'd imagine." I respond after a deep sigh. "I...- I just...- I just can't believe he's gone."

I have to fight tears again.

Daryl Dixon has a presence about him that none in the group can emulate. While others, like Carol and Michonne, make me feel as though I can show them any anguish I may feel, Daryl makes me want to be an iron wall. A callous soldier that doesn't reveal his inner thoughts or emotions. Its ironic when Daryl himself dispels this by putting a strong hand of reassurance on my shoulder, glancing at me with that hardened expression he's become so well-known among the others for. He's good at hiding his own anguish, but I can see the stress lines chiseled into his face. Rick and Daryl were like brothers, so I know he's feeling it, just as I am.

"He was proud of you." Daryl eventually says. "Always grateful for what you've done for Carl."

That certainly doesn't help my emotional state of mind.

Now I'm biting down on my lower lip to keep the tears from forming. I risk a glance back at Carl. I can see him with Michonne and, from the looks of it, she is having a similar heart-to-heart with him. Divide-and-conquer is it? Carl doesn't look much better than when I left him. His face is still ghostly pale, his eyes still sunken with sadness and grief.

"How do I tell her?" I suddenly blurt out, a new thought coming to my mind as I return my focus to Daryl. "Judith? She... She's only three, but she'll understand that something is missing. Its her dad for Christ's sake."

Daryl nods understandingly, "Gotta tell her the truth." he replies simply. "You 'in Carl are the only family she has left."

Now that is a daunting reality right there.

And then it hits me: its now up to Carl and I to raise his baby sister. Absent of Rick and Lori, we're the next of kin, so the duty falls on us to bring her up in this godforsaken world. As if sensing my line of thought, Daryl is quick to respond;

"You'll have help." he reassures me. "I'll help. Michonne'll help. Ya know Carol will. That's how this works. Family."

Family.

After all this, we're all still family. I'd nearly lost sight of that.

"He was always about lookin' on the bright side, Rick was." I say. "Same with Mich. But these days? The bright side is looking pretty fucking dull."

Daryl feigns a smirk at that.

"We have 'im on the run." the redneck mentions.

"We need to keep him that way." I reply sternly. "Until we get the bastard."

Daryl waits patiently. The redneck is severely underestimated by the other members of the community. Known for his brawn rather than for his brains, Daryl isn't often seen as an insightful man, though I know him differently. He's waiting because he knows I have more to say. And more to say, I certainly do.

"But," I go on. "Our wounded need doctors. We have to get them back."

Daryl is silent for a moment. Behind me, I hear the murmurs of the group start back up again. Once more they're convening to decide our next course of action. This time, at the very least, they sound more calm and collected. Daryl rises suddenly, delivering an affectionate pat to my shoulder before starting off towards the others. Before getting halfway there, he turns to say something.

"I'll take a group out to track 'em and keep on their asses." he says over his shoulder. "You take Carl and the others back to recoup."

Its times like this when I'm glad Daryl Dixon is still around.

Trusting his plan of action, I rise to rejoin my family on the long trek back home.

####

We buried Rick's body in Alexandria late that evening.

To say that it was a tearful ceremony would be the understatement of the century. Worst still was having to break the news to Judith. The infant Grimes was still not old enough to understand the concept of death, but when she learned that her "daddy" wouldn't be coming back home anymore, the child was heartbroken, which only turned Carl and I into further basket cases. That night, all three of us - Michonne, Carl, and I - help each other put Judith to bed. It was no easy task. She kept crying out for her daddy, I suppose thinking that if she cried loudly enough, he'd come out of nowhere and comfort her like he always did. That incident alone makes going to bed difficult on a level I never imagined. In the aftermath, in nothing but a pair of pajama pants, I sit on the edge of the mattress, face in my hands while Carl showers in the room across the hall. My body screams from the day's exertion and my mind begs for sleep, even though I know I can't possibly think of sleep at the moment. I don't hear Carl enter the room, my first evidence of his presence being his cold, yet rough hands pressing down on either side of my neck on my sore shoulders. He doesn't say anything, nor do I, but the feelings that pass through me from just that touch tells me enough. After several minutes more like that, I finally break the ice.

"Do you remember," I begin. "What I told you when we were in that godforsaken boxcar in Terminus?"

Carl sighs heavily behind me, his strong hands kneading the aching muscles in my neck and shoulders.

"No." he admits at last. "Remind me."

"I said," I continue, allowing my mind to dip three years into the past to recall the words. "I'm here. You're not alone. You're never alone." Shifting backwards, turning just enough to allow me to see his face, I reach behind me, sliding his hand off of my shoulder so that I can take it into my own hand; making sure to graze the metal ring on his ring finger as I do. Its a symbolic act, but one I know he registers. "That's still true today, you know?" I go on. "I know you, Carl. Don't take this and just let it fester inside of you. I'm here, for what its worth."

For a good long moment, Carl Grimes is silent; his only response being the tightening of his grip on my hand. Several minutes later he shifts, letting go of my hand, which he then uses to wrap me into a hug from behind. I feel his chest up against my bare back, feel his heartbeat pounding at a slightly heightened rhythm. For many minutes more we stay that way, neither of us talking to the other. For an instant, I think that is how he'll stay. Not talking to me about what's happened until we both grow tired and go to sleep, but he surprises me when his voice again pierces the stale air.

"It hurts, Tanner." his voice trembles with renewed emotion.

I reach up and rest my hands against his, which hang around my neck, refusing to release me from his embrace.

"I know, Carl." I reply as a whisper. "I know."

"What are we going to do?"

"Same thing we've always done." I reply surely. "Survive. We'll take care of Judith, make sure she grows up knowing who her parents were, and we'll help keep our group - our family - together, just like he'd have wanted."

I feel two hot tears sting my shoulder and I know he's started crying again. He's just too proud to say it.

"He'll attack here next." Carl continues. "Negan. You know he'll come here next."

I nod.

Of course I know. Even with Daryl and the others looking, I know he'll be coming.

"That's why we have to be ready." I reply. "We have to stop him at all costs. We can't let him take this place from us too."

"Yeah..."

"Let's get some sleep." I tell him, both of us already shifting to cuddle in the others arms beneath the comfort of our sheets. "Tomorrow... is round two."

And so it is with a heavy heart that I close my eyes, clutching Carl tightly in an embrace, and fall asleep to hopes that someday, in the future, we can live without this pervasive fear hanging over our heads. This sorrowful life...

* * *

**A/N: A small interlude chapter before the second battle is to begin. It is clear that Rick's loss will have a profound affect on the group for the rest of this story and beyond, but with a battle on the horizon, how will they adapt to fighting an enemy like Negan without Rick's leadership? As a prelude to the next chapter, new leaders will rise up, heroes be born, and loss be felt as the battle against Negan reaches fever pitch. During the last story, I remember a whole bunch of requests asking that Daryl and Tanner be shown interacting more often, so I hope the scene between the two of them was something memorable and served to illustrate the bond they've grown over the past couple of years. Speaking of This Cruel Reality, how many of my readers from the first story picked up Garret's cameo? I felt compelled to show that he's still around, for the moment. Though he won't really become an important player, it was nice for me to be able to find another way to tie this story back into the first one! As always, I hope you all enjoyed, feel free to leave comments and favorite! Its much appreciated! :)**

**Now for the reviews:**

**LastationLover5000: Holy awesome review! You make a true observation ^^ The characters in this story would certainly have a field day kicking my ass, if they were real, for all the shit I've put them through. I'd like to think, however, that all the trials and tribulations they've been through make them come across as more human. I'm glad you think Tanner and Carl are adorable. I personally have grown to love the relationship they've formed. It always has me wishing Carl would find himself someone in the show that would love and care for him like that and vice versa. I'm glad you picked up on Negan's humor. For being a piece of shit, he certainly is funny from time to time, especially in the comics. Thank you for your review, friend :) Glad you had a chance to check this story out at last hahaha**

**vmbaby: Yes, the gap left by Rick's role in the community will certainly be felt. From this chapter, it seems that Carl and Tanner will end up raising Judith together, but certainly the issue of who will lead Alexandria in the wake of his loss has to be addressed. Could Tanner rise up and fill that gap? Anything is possible, but there are too many variables right now to say for certain. Of course, I know what will happen, but I can't spoil it for you guys :) Suffice it to say that this issue will be explored. Lastly, yes, it certainly seems Negan will use Rick's death for some ulterior motive and the cause responsible for his death has yet to be identified, so there's that to deal with soon. More answers will surface in the next chapter so stay tuned! Thanks for the comment! :)**

**thebomb. com: Thank you so much! :D It is true: no one is safe. Absolutely no one. Just like in the show and comics, I'm of the mindset that if the plot allows for them to be killed, I'll kill them, and Rick finally met that criteria!**

**Guest: I've never read a fanfic that kills Rick off either. Not to say that killing Rick off is a sign of a good fanfic, though. I love me some Rick Grimes. It just became necessary for the plot and I'm not one who is above killing off even my favorite characters. As long as they still have a role to play in my story, they'll remain alive, but the second they don't, they're fair game. Thanks for the comment!**

**Thank you all again for the continued support and readership! You guys are the best!**

**Until the next one!**

**Later!**


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